Arnold's Flight
by Angel St. Mathew
Summary: A much better summary is inside, but this is basically a story based on the movie Reign of Fire and what might have happened in Arnold's life and the lives of others had it actually happened. Please R&R, I'm dying to know what people think.
1. For to Have a Story No one's Heard

A/N: For anyone who has yet to watch the movie Reign of Fire, this may be quite confusing for you. It is a story based on this movie, and, I might add, a slightly dark fic. I hadn't originally intended for it to be that way, but during the process of writing I tried my best to portray what happened, people's responses, their feelings...etc as accurately as I could, based on the situation (which in itself is incredibly unrealistic, but makes for good story material). Please review and let me know what you think with each chapter, or simply wait till the end. I openly accept all constructive critisism on storyline, structure...etc. But, if you watched Reign of Fire, didn't like it, and are just reading this because it's a HA fic, you might as well click the back button on your browser and find something else to read because this really takes a sharp turn away from all the basic HA story plots out there.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think.

Important: Anything in _Italics_ is what's written in the journal. Anytime you see one of these - at the beginning and end of a portion of the story, it represents the start and finish of a flashback. Everything bold is present day(in the story).

Hope this clears some stuff up.

Arnold's Flight

By Angela St. Mathew

Chapter one: For to Have a Story no One Has Heard...

_I'm starting this journal with the hope and prayer that someday someone will be around to read it. Even if those of us here now don't survive this, I pray this will find it's way into the hands of someone with a brain, someone who can find a way to stop this madness._

_I'm not even sure where to begin explaining, but I'm sure if you survived you know exactly what I'm talking about. But let me try to begin somewhere. The first dragon showed up in London, unearthed by a crew of railroad tunnel workers. After that they seemed to spread like wild fire all over England, expanding to the surrounding regions with a speed that was literally unstoppable. It took them a couple weeks to show up in New York (they got to Canada first). _

_It started with one that flew over Manhattan, burning the tops up buildings and taking up any people it could reach. By the next day, Tuesday, there were hundreds swarming in from the air over the ocean. _

_Within five months, there were literally thousands of them clowding the sky and claiming building tops of their own. The buildings that were left standing, anyway. Mostly just the frames are left, everything else burned in the inferno of the dragons' breath. _

_People died by the millions, either set to flames or eaten whole by the demons. That's all they seem to do. Scratch that, it IS all they do! They just burn our city and eat it's people. Mostly they eat. It's almost like they're smart or something, because they seem to know that if they destroy all our houses and buildings, we'll have no where to go but out into the open. _

**Arnold placed a hand over his eyes as memories and emotional termoil rushed painfully to the forefront of his mind. He wasn't sure why he was bothering to do this. He wasn't sure why he was reading a journal he'd began twelve years ago, why he was opening himself up to all the memories he'd kept blocked away for so long. **

**He remembered being so angry that first week, so distraught with how stupid people were for running out of their burning houses and into the streets, only to have a fire-breathing demon swoop down through the smoke and take them in an instant. **

**And he saw it. **

**Through his bedroom window, nearly paralyzed with shock, Arnold had watched it happen just across the street. He vividly remembered seeing his neighbor rush out of his house, only to have his entire upper torso crunched off. He saw a kid from school insinerated before his eyes. **

**It had only been a couple seconds of his life, but that couple seconds, and the moments that would follow, had completely stolen away the 13 year old child that Arnold was. **

**He read on...**

_My grandpa was one of the few people in our neighborhood with a brain enough to lead us directly to the sewer opening in the street after there appeared to be no dragons on the warpath nearby. Only four of us made it in before the dragons came back. Three made it to the next day._

**Arnold could feel his arm muscles tensing with anger at the memory. His grandpa had been so insistant that all the boarders get into the sewer before he did. Arnold had wanted to help get all the boarders out of the house, but Phil had made him go with grandma and make sure she was safely away from the manhole once underground. Grandma had been strangely quiet and submissive, not like her crazy self at all. She hadn't said a word as Arnold hurried her along the path and around a corner, told her to stay there, and ran back to the opening just Ernie was coming down the ladder.**

**- **

Arnold started up the ladder but Ernie stopped him. "What're you doin'?"

"I have to go help grandpa!"

Ernie grabbed Arnold by the arms and pulled him away from the ladder. "You can't go out there!"

"Let go!" Arnold demanded rather viscously, just as the rumble of dragon fire carried across the street, a horrible explosion rocked the earth, and a man's scream was heard as Mr. Huyne tumbled into the manhole and landed with a terrible thud onto the concrete. He was enveloped in flames, and Ernie yanked his shirt off and began slapping the man, padding out the fire.

All Arnold could do was watch the opening that lead to the streets above. Without a moments hesitation, he made a mad dash for the ladder and started up, but Ernie caught him again. This time he wasn't gentle and let Arnold fall a couple feet into the floor by the moaning Mr. Huyne.

Ernie climbed up, took one look outside, and climbed back down, sliding the cover over the manhole on his way.

Arnold remembered yelling at him, demanding he open it back up. He'd tried to go up the ladder again, but Ernie wouldn't let him. Regardless of his recently achieved height, Ernie was still stronger. Arnold had cursed and screamed for the first time in his life as he fought against Ernies hold on him.

He hadn't noticed it then, but in his mind's eye now Arnold could still see the grief stricken expression on Ernies face.

-

A/N: That's all for now. I'm not sure when I will get the next chapter up, but hopefully it won't be too long. But buckle up for a long ride, because this story is alot bigger than I'd ever planned it to be!

Angela


	2. Life was Such a Simple Game

Chapter 2: Life Was Such a Simple Game

**Because of his severe burns, Mr. Huyne hadn't even survived the next hour. It wasn't until a long time later that Arnold learned why Ernie had done what he did that day. With a regretful sigh, Arnold focused on the pages in front of him. **

_In the weeks that followed, people began to show up from within the tunnels, having also been smart enough to escape underground. Ernie and I had already set up a sleeping area for us and grandma, but as more people arrived we found ourselves trying to settle everybody and calm the hystericals. _

**And alot of hystericals there had been. Mothers who couldn't find their children, loners who couldn't find their better half, children who'd been found alone in the street and snagged by pasersby, born away to the safety of the tunnels where they now wandered without their parents. **

**Shortly after the chaos began, Arnold had found himself in a state of complete self-denial. Somehow finding the ability to push every distrought, emotional, and hysterical feeling of his own into the back of his existance, he relentlessly went around organizing people into specific areas for sleeping, pairing children with adults temporarily, and getting people out of the way so there'd be room if -and when- more people came.**

**This was all done alongside Ernie, and thankfully people poured in so slowly that there was hardly any chaos at all except that caused by a few people having breakdowns.**

_Poeple didn't start venturing back outside again until it became quiet once more, and they only left to find food or personal things, but few found anything left in their own homes. Much of what they returned with was anything that could be eaten or slept on, but so few left the tunnels that not much was acquired. One man who's been quite a help to us, Eric Moore, organized a group of men to go search the streets for bedding and food. His plan had been to take a large enough group that they wouldn't have to go out numerous times. Unfortunately, their search had taken so long that they were eventually discovered by a dragon. Only Eric and three other men made it back with bedding material. _

_It wasn't untill a few days later that Eric overcame his guilt enough to help plan and run more errends into the streets. We decided the best plan would be to send out three or four at a time, each going in a seperate direction to scout the area and record where to find the supplies. Then we'd send out groups. Small groups. Eventually we had a good stock of food, bedding, and even conveniences like flashlights, notebooks, dishes, and things like that. We'd managed to set up quite a community underground, small though it was compared to the city of people we'd once been part of. By that time we'd been in the tunnels for nearly six months._

"Excuse me?"

Arnold handed a musty sleeping bag to a waiting man and turned toward the voice that had addressed him. A teenaged girl stood balancing a toddler against her hip. Arnold saw that the little boy had obviously urinated on her shirt while sleeping with his head on her shoulder.

"I found him at the edge of that tunnel down there-" She pointed. "Do you have any pillows or anything I can lay him down on?"

A slightly surprised look crossed Arnold's face in regards to her compassion and care despite her obvious discomfort with the child. This girl looked like she'd been pretty high class, her once expensive clothes now soiled and her short hair a slight mess. He'd given bedding out to alot of people, but he didn't recal giving her anything yet. Maybe Ernie had. It made him wonder if she'd actually asked for anything.

Breaking away from his thoughts, Arnold turned and rumaged through the small pile that consisted of anything from sleeping bags to sheets to couch cusions. Thus far he, Ernie and Eric had decided to be extremely sparing, making sure everyone had something to sleep with. Without a second thought, Arnold took up a pillow and quilt and handed them both to her.

"Thanks." Said the girl, the look on her face saying she meant it, and she moved away.

"Arnold?"

Arnold turned to Ernie, who walked up to him. "We need to send another scout to find food."

"Didn't a group just come back with some?"

"That was a week ago, Arnold."

_A week ago, _Arnold thought, placing a hand to his forehead. He could have sworn that group had just come back with that backpack of cans yesterday. On top of that, there seemed to be an enormous shortedge of food on the outside.

"The nearest grocery store we haven't checked is over twenty blocks away from the south exit." Arnold said, referring to one of the exits at the furthermost part of this sewer system. So far they hadn't ventured further than two blocks beyond the end of their sewer system where a new one began, one that no one had dared enter because of the sulfer-like smell they'd discovered when opening a manhole. Fearing that dragons inhabited it, they decided that where they were was good enough and that they didn't need to risk their lives just yet. Besides, the meager number of survivors didn't require more room. They had plenty.

"We haven't checked out any houses yet, just a few around the manhole down the hall."

"Alright, I'll go."

Ernie seemed to scowl a little in disagreement. "I didn't mean _you_ had to go, Arnie-"

"Don't call me that." Arnold immediately snapped.

"Sorry. But no, you can't go, I just meant we need to find someone to scout out the houses."

Arnold felt himself getting irritated and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm not a kid anymore, Ernie."

Ernie looked slightly taken aback. "I know that, Arnold."

"Take care of this pile, I'll get a couple guys and go, ok?" Arnold walked away before Ernie could say anything, and the older man sighed in a low grumble, missing the old Arnold very much.

The smell of charred ash and sulfer still hung thick in the air, overlapping a city that had been drained of it's color. Countless skeletons of once living vehicles littered the streets, and only a few blocks away stood a small wasteland where a beautiful park had once been.

Arnold blinked over his dry eyes as he shifted the weight of his backpack a little, wishing it were heavier than it was. He'd been through five houses so far and only found one with a large supply of dried and canned foods in the basement. He'd left it all there to be collected later by a larger group. The weight in his bag now was merely a bag of candy he'd miraculously found lying in the road, and a couple of mystery cans he'd spotted within the ashes of someones home, the wrappers burned off.

He traveled from house to house through windows and sidedoors, keeping to the alleyways and staying out of the street as much as possible. Now he crouched low at the edge of the block, leaning against the remains of a brick building and preparing himself for a healthy run across the street. He scanned the other end, seeing that the cellar window was broken out of the nearest house. Then he scanned the sky and building tops. All clear.

Bracing himself, he silently sprinted his way across the street, being extra careful not to trip on anything and give himself away. He dropped to the ground and slipped into the window, stiffling a small grunt of pain as he sliced his forearm on the broken glass of the window. He dropped down with a barely audible thud onto the cellar floor.

A quick glance at his arm told him he was an idiot for not wearing a denim jacket or something. But then he remembered that he had none to wear.

Making a mental note in his head to find such a jacket while he was out, he scanned the room for something to wrap the wound, but found nothing. Blood streaked down his arm, but he ignored it for now, merely holding the cut against his shirt as he began his search for supplies.

Finding nothing, he headed up the stairs, but the door was jammed. He nudged it repeatedly, trying to make as little noise as possible, and finally cleared a large enough space to slip through. He then saw why the door had been blocked. Three feet from the door, Arnold could look out over the ruin of the house behind it and see the next street. Half of this building had been smashed in.

Arnold quickly ducked under the cover of the remaining half of the house and continued his search, but found nothing. He searched two more houses before he climbed through another window and suddenly stopped.

He knew this house. For some reason, he couldn't quite place how he knew, but he definately knew. The strange mixture of culture was evident in the furnishings and decor, eerily left in place and covered in dust. Of course, most of the houses that were still standing looked like this, but the sight of this house seemed to turn Arnolds stomach. Things were exactly as they were before, like whoever had lived there had simply vanished.

And in a way, they had.

Arnold searched his brain relentlessly, trying to place the familiarity of this house. Odd whispering voices filled his head, familiar voices he couldn't place.

He'd forgotten everything.

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think, not only the storyline but my writing structure and style and such. Any opinions will be greatly appreciated!


	3. Life's Labor Lost

Chapter 3: Life's Labor Lost

**Arnold sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. To this day, he couldn't figure out how it had happened. His mind had somehow completely blanked out the existence of his life before, erasing everything but the memory of his Grandpa and the bitterness he still harbored -but didn't express in so many words- toward Ernie.**

**By that time it had been almost a year after the initial attack of the demons in London, over six months since they'd evacuated to the sewers, and it was the day he stepped into that house that his memory came flooding back to him in a dangerously painful rush.**

Trying to push the confusion and queasiness out of his mind, Arnold pressed on through the house toward the kitchen. He was intent on searching the house and leaving as quickly as possible. The place was really giving him the creeps.

He found nothing salvageable in the kitchen and moved on to the basement door. Failing to notice the lack of dust on the door knob, he swung it open noiselessly and started down the steps.

Once again, he stopped suddenly. But this time it wasn't just a feeling. This time he sensed it. There was something down there, something watching him.

He tried the light switch, but nothing happened. Refusing to admit to being afraid, he started down the steps, albeit cautiously, wishing he had a flashlight.

But there was no need.

In an instant, a tiny beam of light flashed into existence and trained itself onto Arnold's face, thankfully not blinding him because his eyes were still adjusted to the daylight.

Needless to say, Arnold jumped a little, his muscles tensing and unconsciously going into fight mode.

Whoever it was said nothing, and neither person moved for a long time. Arnold saw another switch at the bottom of the steps and flipped it with his foot, lighting up the room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He froze.

There, sitting on a mattress with a couple afghans around her, was a young girl of about his age. Her face was pale and her hair was blond, and she'd gasped and covered her eyes with the blanket when he'd flipped the light on.

Arnold descended the rest of the stairs quickly and crouched in front of her, his mind and stomach both doing back flips. Memories flooded back to him in such an ambush that he could hardly place any of them. He knew this girl.

"Helga?"

His voice was breathless. The girl slowly and carefully slid her hands away from her eyes, and the vast blue hues captivated him instantly with a feeling he couldn't describe. This was someone he'd completely forgotten. One of many.

Along with the memory of her existence came the memory of who she was exactly, and his heart wrenched oddly. This was a girl who'd picked on him in school when they were younger, who'd been rude to him later and, finally, stopped speaking to him altogether in the last of his memories of her. This was a girl who he'd always cared about because he knew there was a hurting little girl inside of her, but she never let anyone see it. He'd never been able to be good friends with her. He crouched frozen in indecision. Was she the same?

"Arnold?"

Her voice seemed choked, full of hope and uncertainty. Her eyes seemed half-focused, as if she couldn't believe she was actually seeing him there.

In that instant, Arnold hesitated no longer. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against him, embracing her like he'd just found something he hadn't known he'd lost. Helga's arms wrapped around him almost desperately, her mind still not sure that this was actually happening.

The two teenagers remained that way for a long time before Arnold pulled back and looked deep into her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" Helga coughed slightly, "I couldn't find Phoebe...I looked everywhere, but she's not here."

_She's here waiting for Phoebe...Oh God, Phoebe...but what about her family? _Not only was Arnold confused by the fact that Helga was here and not at her own house, but there was an odd sound in Helga's voice and the words that she spoke, and it worried him. Her next words confirmed his dreaded suspicion.

"I have to wait for her to come back...I know she'll come back."

Arnold could feel his dry eyes beginning to burn with fresh tears, forcing himself not to accept what he was hearing. He'd heard it so many times in the voices of strangers over the past months, but couldn't bring himself to believe it now. Helga Pataki was _not_ crazy.

"Come on, you're coming with me." He said with finality, standing.

"But I have to wait for Phoebe, I know she'll be back soon."

_She'll be back soon?_ How long had Helga been hiding out down here, waiting for her best friend? Noticing the small pile of food stuff she had next to the bed, and the scattered piles of empty cans and boxes around the floor, Arnold knew that Helga had been living in this darkness for far too long.

He reached down and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. Remarkably, she didn't fight back.

He looked into her eyes steadily for a moment before he spoke, forcing the words he didn't want to speak. "Helga, Phoebe's not coming back."

At first, he wasn't sure she'd understood what he'd said until she began to shake her head slowly. "Yes she is. This is her house, she has to come back eventually."

"Phoebe's gone, Helga." Arnold said non-too-compassionately, regretting it an instant later.

Helga tore away from him. "You're wrong, Football Head?" She screamed, spitting out the cursed nickname.

Arnold didn't have time to think about the nickname as his chest suddenly tightened with panic. She was being too loud! He moved toward her, urging her to be quiet. Helga only continued to rant about Phoebe's return, and Arnold heard the distant roar of a winged demon. Driven by sheer panic, he rushed the girl and latched onto her, pinning her arms to her sides and dragging her down onto the mattress with him. Securing her against him with one arm so she couldn't fight back, he used his free hand to cover her mouth and smother her infuriated screams.

Arnold heard the intense rushing of wind as a dragon swooped down near the buildings and back up into the air, letting out another howl.

Hearing the sound, Helga froze completely. But Arnold didn't let her go.

Another rush of wind, and moments later, a distant howl, accompanied by another.

Then stillness.

Arnold felt something yet on his hand and slowly removed it from over Helga's mouth. Her body lurched ever-so-slightly with a tiny sob, and Arnold released his hold on her, propping himself up on one arm to peer down at her face. It was streaked with tears.

Helga didn't move. She barely even blinked. She simply lay there and cried, seeming to forget that Arnold was even there. She jumped a little when Arnold placed his hand on her arm, but she didn't look up at him or say anything.

She was lost inside.


	4. Near and Far

A/N: I don't own Hey Arnold...blah, blah, blah...Guess I should have put that at the beginning. Did I...It's been so long I don't remember. Ah well, I'm too poor for anyone to bother suing.

Anyway, sorry about the wait. As a college student, I _am_ required to set certain priorities above others. So, as an addition to be deepest apolegies for anyone who's actually waiting for this depressing story, I've decided to upload chapter 3 and 4 together. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Near and Far

**Arnold remembered that day very well. Helga had cried silently for a long time, and then fell asleep. He'd laid there with her for hours before waking her up, hoping she'd be more willing to leave by that time. She hadn't said a word, just nodded as she watched him fill his backpack with cans. He'd handed her a blanket to carry, and she took it and followed him silently out of the house.**

**After they'd gotten back to the tunnels and Arnold handed the food off to Eric, he took Helga to the space he'd cleared for himself, Grandma, and Ernie. **

**Miraculously enough, Grandma had remembered Helga right away as Eleanor Roosevelt. She'd insisted Helga sit down with her and tell her all about her "travels" or something like that, so Arnold had left them there and returned to the main supply corner to see how things were going. **

**It hadn't passed his attention, however that Helga still was not talking, not even to Grandma. **

**Glancing back down at the pages, Arnold remembered that he'd purposely not included anything very personal in this journal. **

**Maybe he should have. **

**Writing these events from a more personal perspective may help whoever reads them to have a clearer understanding of exactly what happened. **

**_Maybe I'll make a personal journal some time, _he thought. **

Arnold sat at the edge of the pathway that ran against the wall of the tunnel. His legs hung over the side, his feet dangling close to the sewer waters surface. The smell that had once been so strong and clogging to the senses now went practically unnoticed to him. The terribly unhealthy living conditions were rarely complained about anymore, and personal hygiene had ceased to be top on anyone's priority list.

Not only had Arnold forgotten the last time he'd had a hot shower, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even cared.

Arnold reached up and brushed the side of his face with one hand. How long had it been now since he'd come here? He'd lost track of the days a long time ago.

Had it been a year yet? He'd probably missed his birthday.

Maybe Ernie knew what day it was.

Arnold felt the light fuzz of facial hair around and under his chin, knowing it had definitely been a long time since he looked in a mirror. He'd have to see if anyone had one he could use...

Arnold sighed, letting his hand fall back down. He knew it didn't matter what day it was or how much peach fuzz he had. He just needed something to get his mind off of her.

And everybody else.

His tired mind swelled with memories and thoughts of his life before; thoughts of school, of friends...

"Gerald...Oh, God..." Arnold dropped his head into his hands, completely overcome with remorse. How could he have completely forgotten about his best friend?

_You don't just forget something like that,_ the voice in his head scolded disapprovingly, _Helga didn't forget.(pause)_ _But look at what happened to her because she couldn't forget._

Helga had hidden in the dark for God only knew how many months, alone, waiting for a friend who would never come.

What was she going to do now? So far, she hadn't managed to do anything on her own and she'd stopped speaking altogether. Was she that out of wack?

At least his Grandma had remained relatively normal. Normal for _her_, anyway. She was always up and about, trying to clean and take care of things like she was back in the boarding house. Of course, now she rambled very often about Phil and all the wild things of their past, and Arnold and Ernie weren't quite certain whether or not she knew that Phil was gone.

For the first few months, Arnold had done his best to ignore her, even though he knew it was a rotten thing to do. Hearing about his Grandpa was just too difficult. At times he just wanted to forget and not be able to think about it.

Arnold scowled at the water below him, but it was a scowl directed more toward himself than anything else. _Forget. What a crock._ All he'd done was forget about everything but the one thing he didn't want to think about any more.

Now he remembered _everything_, and he couldn't decide whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Arnold sat upright then, the scowl disappearing. Of course! Sure, he'd been a little crazy before, but then he eventually remembered everything! He recovered!

Helga would recover too, she just had to! And if her presence had knocked him back into order, maybe he could help her get well too.

It was a long shot, he knew. And he couldn't replace Phoebe or anyone else for Helga. All he could do was be there for her and make sure she knew that she wasn't alone anymore.

_It has to work, it just has to! _Arnold thought, and half prayed. He needed Helga to get better.

She was all he had left.

_We'd also managed to set up a medical area in one secluded part of the tunnels. We strung shower curtains across the opening as a divider and made as many beds as we could fit in the small space. The beds were always full. _

**What Arnold hadn't said here was that, not only were the beds constantly full, but there were always people sitting or lying outside the clinic area waiting to get in. Some never did. **

_We had one doctor among us, Dr. Brandon MacNamara, who selflessly devoted every moment of his time to that clinic and the care of all those people. Others who were well would often come and volunteer their time to help. Mostly woman, but also some men, and it didn't matter if they had any knowledge in medicine at all. Even if they didn't know exactly what IBprofen could be used for, Dr. Brandon was always incredibly thankful for anyone's help. He did his best to teach people even the most basic of his medical expertise. _

_He never said it out loud, but I believe he was preparing in case a time came that he would not be there. The man always had an assurance about him, a sort of rest and peace in his personality, even if over half his patients didn't make it. _

**Arnold smiled at the thought of Dr. Brandon. **

**So many lives he'd managed to save, yet so many lives he'd lost. And even though he sometimes became a horrid worrier, he never panicked, never gave up, and never lost hope. **

**Arnold could not say that the good doctor had never faltered or felt helpless at times, but he always got right back to work. Arnold had always admired his optimism and apparent joy even in the darkness of the times. It reminded Arnold of the optimist he'd once been himself, yet there was something greater in this doctor. Something more real. **

**Where Arnold had lost his innocence and joy, Brandon MacNamara had kept it and moved on. It wasn't until a very long time later that Arnold learned exactly what made this doctor different. **


	5. I'd Like to Say I Didn't Care

Chapter 5: I'd Like to Say I Didn't Care

Arnold lifted the bucket and dumped the fresh water into the waiting drink cooler. They'd quickly discovered a working hose outside one of the manholes, and so they ran it down as far as it would reach, which was just about four feet from the ground of the tunnel. Unfortunately, the only way to activate the hose was to turn the knob at its base on the side of a brick building that was miraculously still standing. So they gathered all the large containers they could find that would hold water and filled each one, then the hose was turned off and no one had to go back outside to turn it on again until all the water was gone.

They had a separate area for water storage close to the 'Supply Cove', as they'd been calling it for some time. They now had a larger band of people responsible for these two areas, but were trying to keep it small enough to make sure people weren't just volunteering so that they could give more supplies to particular people, like family or specific friends.

Arnold wanted to make sure everyone got the same amount of everything, or according to someone's individual need.

They kept one person at each station and rotated them every few hours. The bedding was scarcely needed now, since there hadn't been any new arrivals for a very long time.

But food was a constant must.

Right now, Arnold had been organizing all the odd and mismatched containers and combining those that were half full. Currently there was only one water cooler with a spout on the edge of the bottom, and that was what he was using to distribute the water to the people. It sat on top of two cinder blocks just at the opening of the alcove.

By now, people at least had their own cups, but Arnold had a pile of them next to the drink cooler just in case He handed a cup of water to a waiting man, and then sat down on a vacant cinder block when he saw that there were no more people waiting for water at the moment.

"Hey, Arnold?"

He turned to see a middle aged woman headed his way. Her name was Jeri Freyermuth, and she was one of the many people who helped run the supply distribution.

He cast a weak smile at her, which had become as much of a smile as anybody saw on him these days. He liked Jeri. She was a kind-hearted woman of about forty with dark hair that was shaded with grey.

He stood to greet her. "Hi, Mrs. Freyermuth."

She smiled at him and shook her head lightly. _So polite_, she thought idly. She'd been telling him for a long time that he could just call her Jeri, but he never did.

"Time for your break." She said.

"Are you sure? I mean, I've got nothing better to do if you'd rather-"

"Arnold, really? Do you think _I_ have anything better to do?"

Arnold almost said yes, but stopped himself. Mrs. Freyermuth had once been the mother of nine children, a thing unheard of in the city. Only four of them had made it into the sewers. Her husband had taken the younger four to the park that day, and she never saw them before someone urged her and her children to take shelter in a nearby manhole. Her oldest daughter was married and moved out, and Jeri never saw her or her grandson again.

The four children left were big enough to pretty much take care of themselves, but Arnold had never felt right about Mrs. Freyermuth devoting any time to the supply distribution. He thought she should be with her children, but he never voiced it.

With another of his characteristic weak smiles, Arnold nodded lightly and walked away.

"Hi, Helga."

Helga looked up as Arnold approached her, but she didn't say anything. In fact, she'd been there for almost two weeks and still wasn't speaking. Arnold's Grandma claimed that they'd discussed a bunch of stuff over 'tea', but Arnold highly doubted it.

As he'd done every other time he needed a rest, or simply wanted to sit a while, he grabbed the blanket off of his sleeping space and sat down next to Helga. He didn't sit close enough to touch her, just close enough to let her know he was there, and that he cared.

He often wondered if her lack of speech was because she was angry with him because he'd told her the truth about Phoebe. But she never seemed angry at all. She'd watch him as he sat down, watch him while he situated the blanket around himself, and watch as he opened a book (one of a few he'd found) or began writing things in a notebook (mainly things to do with the organization of the tunnel community). Then her gaze would slip away nonchalantly, and they'd sit in companionable silence.

Today, however, Arnold decided to try something. "Are you feeling ok, today?"

Helga said nothing, not even a nod.

"Do you want to go visit Dr. Brandon?"

Nothing.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Nothing.

Arnold cut right to the chase. "Helga, please talk to me."

She turned to look at him, but still said nothing. The expression on her face was pitiful to Arnold, and he suddenly growled slightly in irritation. He _knew_ she wasn't stupid, so why was she acting like this?

"Fine." He muttered, tossing his blanket off and climbing to his feet. He turned in a huff and walked out of the alcove, not seeing the small tear that slid down Helga's cheek.

Arnold kept walking until he came to a fairly secluded spot of the sewer where the water ran. He sat down heavily and leaned his back against the wall, scowling. Inside, a war was waging hard.

This anger and frustration went against everything he knew to be right. He wanted to help Helga, wanted to be there for her and care for her. But the irritation within him cried out that she was being so selfish, rude, and ungrateful!

Arnold put his head in his hands, willing the confusion away, when he sensed a presence and looked up. It was Ernie.

"Hey, Arnie-Arnold," He corrected quickly, fidgeting a little. Arnold didn't notice.

"What?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute, kid?"

Arnold almost got on him for calling him 'kid', but decided to let it slide. He was upset, he knew, but he couldn't always take it out on Ernie.

With a nod from Arnold, Ernie took a seat beside him.

Silence followed, and Arnold almost asked the man to spit it out before Ernie began speaking.

"I know you don't exactly get along with me very well, and I know it's 'cause of what happened to your Grandpa-"

"No it's not." Arnold lied, knowing he was probably doing a poor job at it. He really didn't want to talk about his Grandpa right now. However, Ernie ignored him and continued.

"-And I thought by now you'd understand why I did what I did back there, but I guess you don't."

Arnold said nothing, waiting for Ernie to continue. He didn't feel like making anything easy.

"Arnold, I didn't want you goin' out there and gettin' hurt."

Even though he knew Ernie was right, Arnold's anger flared. Along with his pride. Stubbornly, he "_knew"_ that he didn't need Ernie or anyone else to take care of him.

"I couldn't...I couldn't let you get killed."

"Why not?" Arnold burst suddenly. "Better to go down trying to save Grandpa than die slowly in this hellhole!"

Ernie scowled. "Oh, yeah? And what about Grandma, huh? What about all these people? I couldn't have taken care of them all myself!"

"What about Eric? And the doctor!"

"But you did practically all the thinking! All the organization and junk like that was in your hands because you handled it better than the rest of us, even at stinkin' thirteen years old!"

"So what?" Arnold grumbled, scowling down at the ground.

Ernie took a few breaths to calm his own temper before speaking, slowly.

"Arnold, Grandpa needed you to look out for Grandma. He _asked_ you to do that for him, and you have. And... and he asked me to look out for you. Just before I ran to the manhole, he told me if he didn't make it, I had to take care of you."

Arnold looked at Ernie, but didn't say anything.

"He made me promise, Arnold."

Arnold looked back down at the ground, and a long silence followed.

Eventually, when Ernie realized Arnold wasn't going to say anything, he stood slowly and walked away, leaving the young man to his thoughts.

What he hadn't told Arnold was what he saw when he looked out that manhole for just a few seconds, what he realized when he saw the boarding house, and half the block, replaced completely with flames and debris.

He'd heard the explosion and knew what had happened.

He'd kept all that dynamite in his room, and the dragon's fire had lit the sky.

He'd killed Grandpa.

A/N: I'd really like some constructive criticism, guys. Please let me know what you think of this story. I'm also open to suggestions on my developement of some of the characters and stuff. Also, if my descriptions are too lengthy let me know. I'm just trying to make things as realistic and clear as possible. Thanks!


	6. Take a Sad Song and Make it Better

Chapter 6: Take a Sad Song and Make it Better

That night Arnold didn't come back 'home' until it was very late. He'd sat for a long time, and then he went to see how Dr. Brandon was doing and if he needed any more help. Then he'd wandered around for a while, looking in on people and such, basically avoiding going back until he was too tired to keep moving.

He pulled back the tarp he'd hung as a door to the alcove and slipped in silently, knowing how to get to his sleeping space in the dark. He went slowly, making sure not to trip over anything, then sat down on his bed and removed his shoes. He took off his plaid, short sleeved shirt and put on his white undershirt to sleep in. He'd come here with both on, but decided quickly that he wouldn't wear them both at the same time, in order to make sure both garments would last him a good long while.

The same went for his pants; he'd slept in them until he grew used to the dampness of the tunnels, and until he put up the 'door'. Then he slept in his boxers.

He laid down and reached for his blanket, only to find that it wasn't there.

A light curse slipped through his head when he recalled leaving it next to Helga, and he was about to go get it when he noticed a shadow standing before him.

"Hi, Arnold."

His eyes rarely ever needed to adjust to darkness, and he knew that voice, though he hadn't heard it in a long time.

"Hi, Helga."

She held something out to him, and he took the blanket with both hands, never taking his eyes off of her. When she didn't move away immediately, he patted the space next to him in a clear invitation for her to sit. He was extremely tired, but he didn't want to turn her away after she'd finally started speaking to him.

Helga didn't hesitate to sit down next to him, and he spread the blanket out over both of them. They sat in silence for a long time, and Arnold had to keep fighting his eyes back open to stay awake.

"I'm sorry." It was barely a whisper, but Arnold heard it clearly.

Without a word, he scooted a little closer so that he could put one arm over her shoulders, an indication that she was forgiven, and that he was sorry, too. Helga leaned against him, and it made him slightly tense, but only for a moment. He let her stay there and watched her fall asleep, nestled safely against him. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face as he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing, and eventually, he fell asleep as well.

_It's been a year and half now, or thereabouts. We've now taken to building more secluded areas of the sewer system. We've been hanging anything from shower curtains to camping tarps as a means of giving people privacy.  
In the large tunnels where the water doesn't run, Ernie has undertaken the building of stout walls that bare a strong resemblance to office cubicles against each side of the tunnel, leaving a walkway down the center. These makeshift bunkers are extremely small, but the people here are showing extreme thanks and a surprising willingness to help with the construction.  
Most of these walls are built with cinder bricks and chunks of destroyed buildings. There is a constant assembly line carrying the materials silently from house to house and finally through a manhole into the tunnels. It's a very risky job, but the men and women are willing to do it. I think it may just be that they have nothing else to do.  
One of the largest hassles with any of our every day activities is keeping the children out of the way. Grandma has helped with that in a large way. _

Arnold leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, smiling_. Leave it to Grandma..._ he thought.

"The little hobbit was scared..._terrified_, even...the creature Gollum sat waiting for him, blocking the doorway..." Grandma was crouching on the ground before all the children, doing a rather good impression of Gollum.

The children clung to each other, eyes wide with horror and anticipation.

"He stuck his slimy nose into the air..." Grandma sniffed short, tiny sniffs that could barely be heard. "He could smell the hobbit close by, but could not tell where he was-"

"He was invisible 'cause 'a the ring, right, Grandma?" One of the children barely breathed, and Grandma's beady-eyed gaze fell on her instantly. The little girl cowered slightly, caught up in the terror of the story, but Grandma quickly winked, then proceeded.

"Bilbo knew that he would only have..._one _chance..."

_So dramatic_, Arnold thought, grinning.

"He took off...jumped into the air!" Grandma burst suddenly, causing the children to gasp, a few even screaming, as she leapt up onto the bed and down onto the other side.

"Gollum grabbed at him, but he missed!" Grandma continued to move around, imitating both characters at the same time with remarkable ability, and Arnold found his own breath catching with the excitement of the story. He remembered reading The Hobbit as a child and how this part had pumped his adrenaline.

_This place we now call home seems to have truly become just that. It's amazing to walk around and see what the people here are doing with themselves. Not only has Ernie taken to the construction of the bunkers, but we also have one man who's begun drawing plans for a boat. He was very excited as he presented the idea to myself and Misha, a young man who's been helping with supplies. I'm still not sure what use we'd have for a boat, since there's nowhere to go and there certainly aren't any fish to catch down here, but I told him to go for it anyway.  
There's also an older man named Silas who's been making checker boards and pieces. At first he'd drawn the lines of a checker board on part of his bed sheet, using rocks of similar size and color as pieces. Now he's made a board out of a square piece of tin and pieces of grey rocks and red brick he's hammered down with a rock hammer into small disk shapes. He's now made three or four of these boards and given them away, and it's very interesting to watch him work at this.  
Here in these caves we don't have nearly as much as we used to. But we really do have a lot. And I don't just mean sentimentally, either. Somehow, when I wasn't looking, these people managed to acquire quite a bit of junk, even myself. I have a large bowl and mirror to wash my face every morning, a small collection of books, a plastic Ninja Turtles lunch box to keep things in, and even an extra pair of clothes! I don't recall when or how I got this stuff, but here it is, and I'm thankful._

A/N: Hey everybody, sorry this chapter is so short. That's why I tried to get it uploaded quickly after the last chapter I put up. I hope you enjoyed it though. Anyone who's seen Reign of Fire knows why I just had to put in a story-telling scene. _  
_


	7. A Mind Too Young to Die

A/N: Be ye warned…this is a very sad chapter of my tale. Sad yet necessary.

Chapter 7: A Mind Too Young to Die 

_It's been weeks now since I've had a chance to sit and record anything in this journal. I suppose I've been putting it off, but I know it must be said. We discovered, in not the best way, that we were not the only survivors left in the city. It hadn't occurred to anyone that our underground home wasn't the only one. _

"Come on, Arnold! The treasure be just around the bend!"

Gertie squinted her eyes evilly, surveying the area surrounding where she and Arnold were standing against the corner of a brick building. She snarled lowly.

"Dirty dogs are a'waitin' for us, m'boy. We must be swift!"

Arnold smiled a little at his Grandma's antics, but said nothing. As crazy as she appeared to be, she also seemed to have an acute understanding of what was going on. He assumed that this was just her way of being cautious in a dragon-infested city, and that was fine with him.

Suddenly, a horrible rumbling shook the earth beneath their feet, and somewhere in the distance a building was bashed to dust in one swift stroke. Arnold and Gertie could see the building a couple blocks away as it tumbled into the street, followed by a billow of flames. Just as the two were turning to run they heard screams.

Human screams.

Arnold turned in time to see people running into the streets, and one person in particular caught his attention. He stood in shock for a moment. _No..._

Gerald Johannsen was screaming at people to run, as he was doing himself, holding a large duffel bag against his stomach. Everyone was scattering aimlessly, not knowing where to go. And then it appeared. The orange eyes glinted at the prospect that lay before it, and its blackened red scales seemed to reflect sunlight that was hidden to everyone else by the smog and ash hanging over the sky.

Arnold froze where he stood, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and echoing off his ribcage.

The dragon crawled out of the fiery rubble, fury blazing in smoky streams from its nostrils as it picked people off the streets, one by one, or merely set them aflame.

Breaking out of his trance, Arnold scanned the streets again. "Gerald!"

When Gerald spotted Arnold standing there, he half-tripped over his own feet. But he quickly recovered and doubled his speed, running directly toward his friend. Arnold didn't hesitate to meet him halfway, and in a gesture completely out of character for both of them, they grabbed each other in a fierce hug. Gerald seemed to swing his duffel bag out of the way before the embrace, and when they parted a second later, he returned it to its place at his middle. Both young men had questions written all over their faces, but Arnold was the first to speak.

"Come on!"

Gerald didn't argue as they took off in the opposite direction of the dragon, Arnold silently praying that others might follow without drawing the dragon to them.

Arnold skidded to a stop suddenly and looked around. "Grandma?"

"Jim, get your sorry carcass below decks!"

Gertie was yelling at people to 'get below decks' as she joined her grandson. If Gerald had been surprised before, he was nearly shocked now. The old lady had actually made it this long?

There was a rush of wind, and a howl split the air. The demon had taken flight!

The three ducked around the corner of a building. Arnold put his hands to his temples, panicking slightly. "What are we gonna do..." He muttered to himself. Gerald remained silent, holding his duffel bag tightly to his chest and keeping his eyes directed toward the sky.

The dragon continued to howl and circle around in the sky, diving every so often to scoop up one of the many helpless people scattered in the streets. Arnold knew where the nearest manhole was. If he dared to peek around the building, he'd be able to see it in the center of the next block. But he knew they would never make it there.

It was then that Gertie turned to Arnold with an odd expression.

A _normal_ expression.

One that portrayed...sadness.

"Arnold," She began slowly, deliberately, "your Grandpa and I love you very much."

Arnold's brow drew down and inward in a terrified puzzlement. On one hand, he'd almost never seen her act this normal, ever. And on the other hand, somewhere in the back of his brain he knew what she was planning on doing. But by the time he was able to register the thought, it was too late. He reached to grab her arm as she whirled around suddenly and took off into the street, but he was a split-second too late.

Gertie said nothing, made no sound at all, just ran.

In the wrong direction.

"NO!" Arnold screamed so loud that it hurt, but he didn't move, didn't run after her. Somehow, he knew he couldn't stop her.

The dragon swooped overhead, and both men remained still. Arnold couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. His mind raced, trying to reach out to hers, willing her to stop, to come back to him. Meanwhile, the other half of his brain trained itself on that block and a half between them and safety. A war was waging itself in Arnold's mind.

"Arnold?" Gerald whispered with a terrified streak in his voice.

Then they heard Gertie's high-pitched singing voice in the distance, drawing the dragon's attention. It swung away and made for the sound.

Going against every fiber in his body, Arnold turned around and, pulling Gerald's arm, they both darted out unto the sidewalk and ran as fast as their long legs would carry them.

**Arnold couldn't recall actually making it to the sewer entrance, or how they got the manhole cover off, or how he broke away from everyone, including Gerald. But sometime shortly after they made it back, Arnold had found himself running.**

Thud.

Not a single shout, nor grunt, nor curse escaped his lips when his knee came crashing down onto the cement once more. His shoes didn't seem to have the same grip that they once had.

Or perhaps it was Arnold himself that had lost his grip.

His dry eyes still burned from being out in the open air, but now they were red with fire from a heat behind the irises, emanating from deep within his head. His whole body shook with a tight mix of anger, hate, fear...and pain.

Arnold kept on running down the pathways, dodging anyone in his way and ignoring all who dared to shout after him in question. Everyone knew him here, but he didn't care. He had to get away. He ran even after there was no one left to trip over, ran though the only sound he heard was the pounding of his own footsteps, and that of his heartbeat thudding painfully loud in his ears. He ran until his throat stung and he could no longer breathe. He slowed to a stop, his legs burning and his entire body glistening with perspiration. He bent over, forcing air into his lungs with each gasping breath.

Moments later, his body still shook with adrenaline as he carefully seated himself against the tunnel wall. His gasps echoed along the corridor, and his own voice coming back to him was the only sound he could hear now. He reached up with a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He could already feel the hot tears forming beneath his eyes. Hatefully, he forced them back, pounding both fists on the floor.

He cursed once.

Then again.

And again.

Finally, Arnold let go.

The tears burned his cheeks on their way down, and his entire body shook wretchedly with sobs. The entire tunnel swam before him and his own thoughts swirled with it.

_I failed...Grandma's gone...I failed...I'm sorry...Grandpa...I'm so sorry...I failed..._

He wrapped his arms around himself and bent his head down, crying.

Arnold wasn't sure how much time had passed. Without a watch or any view of the sky, it was hard to tell. It could have been hours, or maybe only a few minutes.

It could have even been a few days.

Arnold still sat against the wall; his legs now sprawled out in front of him instead of being hugged against his chest. His mind wandered aimlessly as he tangled his fingers around the hem of his flannel shirt - a shirt now so worn that, if he stood in the light, you could see the outline of his torso clearly. It was even missing half its buttons, Arnold having given them away here and there to people who needed them, mostly little kids.

_The kids..._

Arnold's thoughts turned briefly to the hospital, and the kids there that he visited every time he went to help Dr. Brandon, which was just about every day. They'd probably miss him if he didn't show up soon. But then, Arnold wasn't sure that he really cared. Not right then, anyway.

Just then there came a scuffing noise. It was a small sound, barely audible had it not been for the enclosed walls that caused everything to echo. Seconds later, a small child toddled his way curiously around the corner, obviously lost, but not caring. His clothing, consisting mainly of an oversized t-shirt and recycled pull-up, were slightly dirty from wandering around the tunnels.

_How convenient,_ Arnold thought, that he'd been thinking about kids, and here came another one for him to take care of. More responsibilities.

Arnold watched the boy a moment. His fair, two-year-old features took in the surroundings as if they were knew, until his eyes landed on the familiar man with the funny head. His little face split with a smile as he scurried unsteadily over to Arnold, happily landing in his lap before Arnold could stop him.

But then, Arnold doubted he would have stopped the kid even if he wanted to. He wasn't that heartless. And looking down at this small child as he laughed and wrapped his tiny arms around Arnold's neck, he suddenly felt incredibly guilty. This was one of many children who'd now lived half their life down here in the darkness.

"Ok, come on." He said, supporting the child in his arms as he stood. The child merely laid his head on Arnold's shoulder, content.

However, there was no such contentment on Arnold's face as he started down the tunnel, back toward people.

Much to Arnold's surprise, he hadn't been gone nearly as long as he thought. There was still a lot of commotion over that mornings incident.

"Arnold! Oh, thank God!"

This exclamation came from Sara Ivory, a girl Arnold knew who spent most of her time helping Dr. Brandon in the hospital. She was a sweet spirited brunette whom Arnold rarely saw outside the hospital without a child or two with her. She had no family in the tunnels, and Arnold assumed that was why she devoted all her time to the kids and people in the hospital. Her patience and perseverance was something he admired.

Knowing what she wanted, Arnold willingly handed over the little boy who'd been sleeping on his shoulder. His shirt was damp from the child's perspiration, and the sudden absence of the warm little body gave him a slight chill.

"Where was he?" Sara was asking as she took the boy and situated him in her arms.

"Just wandering around the south end."

Sara was giving Arnold a knowing, slightly sad look. "I know what happened this morning."

Arnold knew she was referring to his Grandma, and he met her eyes with a firm gaze, daring her to feel sorry for him. He hated pity.

Sara, however, had no intention of pitying him. "Helga's been looking for you." She said.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. She said she was gonna keep looking for you. Dr. Brandon was looking for you too."

They began walking.

"Is something wrong?" Arnold asked in reference to Dr. Brandon.

"Well, there are a few extra people in the hospital, but I think he just wanted to know where you were. He seemed concerned."

Arnold sighed. "I suppose I should go see him."

"Probably. And that friend of yours is still there. He was asking about you, too."

"Gerald?" Arnold said, mentally smacking himself. "What's he doing in the hospital?" Arnold couldn't remember anything being wrong when he'd seen him.

"I don't know, I was..."

Arnold glanced at Sara when she didn't finish her sentence. She'd obviously started saying something she hadn't meant to. Sara looked over at him once, and then looked ahead again, holding the little boy in her arms more securely.

"Justin's sister died today."

Arnold's chest tightened suddenly at those words, and it took him a moment before he could speak. "She was the last one."

A long silence followed as they walked.

Justin was a young boy who'd come from a typical American family. A mom, dad, two sisters and a brother. His mother had been killed by dragons on Day One, and his infant sister died shortly after inside the tunnels. His father was one of the many who were lost during the first food run, and his twin brother, Marcus, died of a fever three months ago.

His sister, Nicole, had been 16, eight years older than him. And diabetic. It was a miracle that she'd made it this long.

After a while, Arnold spoke. "I'll talk to him."

"He won't talk, Arnold. Not to anyone. He just... sits there-" Sara's voice cracked slightly, and Arnold didn't urge her to finish. Sara had formed quite an attachment to Justin and his sister.

They'd just walked up to the hospital entrance, but stopped when they heard a large collection of high-pitched gasps. Arnold and Sara looked at each other. Then Arnold pulled back the plastic curtain - which served as a door - and Sara stepped through the opening, still holding the little boy.

Inside, the hospital was quite a sight. There, sitting on one of the cots with children clustered around her, was Helga. The children leaned close, eyes wide with interest as Helga regaled in a tale that seemed vaguely familiar to Arnold.

"-And when he was sure he'd lost them, Arnold stopped to catch his breath. But what was he gonna do now? The evil Mr. Scheck had destroyed the only thing that the boys could use to save the neighborhood!"

Arnold grinned at the way Helga told the story, simplifying it for the children's ears, yet making it _so_ dramatic. For a moment, he almost forgot all that had happened that day as he listened to her tell the story so excitingly.

_Just like Grandma..._he unwillingly thought.

Helga had been talking and functioning normally for quite some time now, but she rarely came to the hospital, and hardly ever played with the kids or told them stories.

He looked around at all the children. A few of them looked kind of bored, but most of them were really into it. Arnold thought perhaps his Grandma's death had caused this sudden change in Helga's disposition toward kids. He could only hope, for he knew it would help his friend a great deal...

"'Explain it to me one more time' Arnold said. But then he _stopped listening_ and put the phone down! He headed for the door! The shadow didn't see him until -WHAM!"

A few of the kids jumped when Helga hit the cot with her fists for emphasis.

"'Deep Voice!' He thundered at the stranger! The man in the dark coat dropped the phone and stepped back, surprised. What was he going to do now? He couldn't let Arnold know who he really was!"

"Why not?" Asked one little girl.

Helga only grinned at her. "You'll see." She said.

Arnold realized then that Helga had yet to notice him standing there, what with all the people coming in and out, and she being so engaged in her story telling. He wondered if she would actually launch into this part of the story in front of a live audience.

It never ceased to amaze Arnold how much Helga was _not_ the person she once was, before the attacks. If she was going to willingly share this awkward moment in their history, than he was certainly not going to stop her. Besides, he was curious to see exactly how she remembered it.

"Arnold stepped closer and said, 'now it's time to see who you _really_ are-"

"Who was it?" Asked the boy sitting next to Helga, as he and half of the other kids squirmed in anticipation.

"You'll have to wait and see-"

"Was it Bridget?"

"Hey, no guessing allowed-"

"Was it you?"

This came from a slightly older boy who had his arms crossed with a smug expression gracing his features, saying that he was smarter than all these little kids, and Helga hesitated. If all eyes had been on her before, they were glued to her now, especially when she didn't respond right away.

"It wasn't you, was it Helga?" Another child asked.

"It sure was."

When Arnold said this, Helga's head turned sharply to see him standing by the door, and her eyes went slightly wide. A few particular children leapt up and ran to Arnold, some peppering him with questions, other giving him hugs and expressing their happiness to see him.

"Was Helga _really_ the shadow man?"

"How's come you didn't knowe'd her voice, Arnold?"

"Where were you all day, Arnold?"

Breaking out of her temporary surprise, Helga piped up. "Hey, who's tellin' the story here?"

The children promptly returned to her side, ears now more open than ever. Helga glanced up as Arnold as if she expected him to leave, but was distressed when he leaned casually against the wall, ready for the rest of the story.

"Hey Arnold!"

Arnold's insides did a back flip at the sound of his name being called by a particular voice. It'd been too long, far too long, since he'd heard his best friend call his name like that. Gerald hurried over to his friend and they embraced each other in a typical manly hug, patting each other on the back for an instant before releasing. Helga and her story were, at the moment, completely forgotten.

"Where have you been, man?"

Arnold looked at him incredulously. "Where have _I_ been? Where the heck have _you_ been!"

Gerald smiled a little, but didn't laugh. Where he'd been wasn't really something to laugh about.

"In the dark, Arnold. Completely in the dark." His voice was strained, and Arnold saw that Gerald was greatly disturbed by the memory. He wasn't sure how to interpret his words, but he didn't get a chance to ask anything more before Gerald turned his head suddenly, as if a particular sound among those in the hospital had stood out to him. There was a look in his eyes that Arnold had never seen before.

"Hold on a sec, man." Gerald turned and walked to where Dr. Brandon was standing, holding a softly wailing infant.

Arnold almost followed him, but stopped in near amazement when Brandon, without a word, handed the baby over to Gerald, who took it without question or hesitation. Cradling the baby against his shoulder, Gerald looked over at Arnold with an expression that Arnold couldn't quite read. Joy? Sadness? Pride?

He walked over to his friend cautiously, his face a pure question in itself. He was almost afraid to voice what seemed pretty obvious to him. All he could do was stand there and wait for Gerald to say something.

Gerald only stared at him for a moment, as if searching his brain for the right words. Then without warning he looked past Arnold to where Helga was sitting with her back to them.

Gerald looked back at Arnold. "We need to talk...somewhere else."

Arnold was obviously confused, but led the way out of the hospital anyway. He didn't stop until they were a safe distance away, and then he faced his friend. He waited patiently for Gerald to speak, but he didn't. His eyes wandered around the cavern walls, down to his tattered sneakers, onto the fair face of the baby, anywhere but at Arnold.

"Who's baby is that?" Arnold finally spoke, more bluntly than he'd intended.

"I...It's...it's mine. _She's _mine." Gerald said at last.


	8. Don't Tell Helga

Chapter 8: Don't Tell Helga

"Yours?" Arnold exclaimed, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. _Gerald has a baby..._

"Yeah." After a long pause, he added, "Mine and Phoebe's."

Arnolds head swam slightly. _Gerald and Phoebe have a baby! Phoebe..._

"We were...We were all hiding in the basement under Mr. Greene's shop-"

_Basement...Mr. Greene has a basement? _Such thoughts were just about all Arnold could concentrate on at the moment.

"There were thirty-two of us at first, I think. Now there are only twelve...er, their _were_ only twelve. They died, man. They all died! We didn't have any light, we only used the flashlights for emergencies, and those were rare...It was always dark. Our food ran out weeks ago, that's why..." Gerald paused for a long while, and then in a sudden movement he shifted the baby in order to free one arm. He held up his hand, revealing a silver wedding band.

"I married her, Arnold." The volume of his voice was low, but it carried a desperation and heartbreak Arnold had never heard in him before.

"There wasn't a priest or anything, but I married her...she wanted me to marry her..." His voice cracked. "She wanted to have a baby, Arnold! I didn't want her to. I told her it wasn't safe..."

Gerald was almost speaking to himself now, and not to Arnold. He held his baby close and safe, rocking on his legs slightly as he rambled.

But Arnold guessed the rocking was not for the baby's sake. Gerald's eyes misted over.

"She died...she died and I couldn't...she never told me...she knew she probably wouldn't..."

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he began to sob.

Arnold didn't know exactly what he meant, but the truth was obvious. Phoebe's death had something to do with the baby, and Gerald blamed himself. Arnold stood by Gerald as he cried, not sure what else to do but give silent support to his friend. After a short while, Gerald's sob's subsided.

"You can't...you can't tell Helga."

Arnold almost asked why, but then realized it would be a stupid question. If Helga knew that Phoebe had been alive all this time...Arnold didn't know how she might react to the news. Especially all of what he'd just heard. Would she be angry at Gerald?

Arnold nodded his head in agreement. Helga would have to find out eventually, but not now.

There was a long, drawn out silence as the two old friends stood there in the tunnel path. Finally, Gerald looked down at his baby fondly, and then cast a small smile at Arnold.

"Her name's Lupita. Lupita Rose. Phoebe named her."

Arnold had to smile a little at this. The idea of an African-American father and an Asian mother giving their baby a Hispanic name was amusing to him, in an adorable sort of way. And it seemed like the kind of name Phoebe would pick, too. Arnold smiled a little wider.

_Priceless, _he thought, looking down at the baby. _She's priceless_.

_Of the thirty-two original survivors, only six now remained who'd made it to our community alive. I haven't yet discovered exactly what happened, I guess I just haven't found the right time to ask. _

_Of the six survivors, I've only seen my long time friend Gerald, his daughter, Lupita, and one other young boy of about ten named Tommy. He was thin and terribly pale, and as far as I know he's still in the hospital. Dr. Brandon said he isn't healthy at all from the lack of sunlight and food, and he wants to keep him in the hospital for a few days. _

_I had noticed that Gerald looked fairly pale also, regardless of his natural skin color. But apparently he had been one of the few who frequently went above ground in search of food. We both cursed the fact that we'd never seen each other before now, though we knew the distance between our hideouts was a long one. _

_That was the furthest I'd ever gone from the entrance to the tunnels. It had actually been my Grandma's idea. She didn't make it back to the tunnels with us. _

A/N: I apologize for the pitiful length of this chapter. The end of the last one and the beginning of the next chapter to come just kind of churned the story out in this sequence.


	9. Maxwell Storm

Chapter 9: Maxwell Storm

_Today I discovered why the dragon had attacked the other group of survivors. I also met another old school friend of mine who, amazingly, is absolutely nothing like I remember..._

Arnold heard the commotion from inside his alcove, and he sighed. Sometimes fights erupted among the people, but this one sounded pretty heated and he didn't want any kids exposed to heavy language or bloodshed, if it came to that.

He pushed himself up out of a sitting position rather begrudgingly and hurried out to see what was going on.

Two men about his age were standing not far away. They'd been yelling before, but now there was a full out brawl going on. That didn't usually happen.

Arnold ran toward them as other people backed away.

"Hey, knock it off!"

With the help of a few stronger guys, Arnold was able to pull the two men apart, though they were still trying to take swings at each other. Blood was already flowing from beneath one man's nose, and bruises were beginning to develop.

"Somebody want to explain what's goin' on here?" Arnold demanded.

"Shut up, you little-"

"Arnold!"

Arnold looked at the man that addressed him, expecting to know him. But this person seemed to be a complete stranger. His shaggy black hair hung in his eyes in such a way that prevented Arnold from completely seeing his face, while his thin, lanky build was still rigid with an adrenaline waiting to burst back into action.

The man looked at Arnold like he'd just seen a ghost.

"It's me, Curly!"

Arnold looked closely at him, and sure enough, it was. He nearly choked on the air he was breathing. "Curly?"

Curly nodded, and Arnold looked over at the other man, half expecting to know him, but he didn't. "What's going on?" He asked instead, for the moment getting back to the matter at hand.

"Nothing, Arnold. Just a difference of opinion, that's all."

"You didn't think so before!" The other man snarled angrily, shaking off the men who held him and wiping the blood from beneath his nose.

"Yeah, I was wrong. I least I can admit when I've made a mistake!"

"It would have worked-"

"But it _didn't_! And all those people, friends of ours, _died_!"

"That's not my fault!"

"'Freakin' jerk-off-" Curly lunged at the other man, but was held back. "You don't even care that they're dead!"

"I _do_ care! But what am I supposed to do about it! It's not like I can bury their bodies or anything!"

Pushing back the men who held him, Curly whirled around and stomped away. Arnold almost followed him, but decided not to. He'd be able to talk to Curly later.

Meanwhile, the other man was preparing to walk away as well, like the spectators had also done.

"Hey, wait a second." Arnold said, walking up to him as he turned around. The man wiped more blood from his nose, and though Arnold didn't feel like doing him any favors, he pulled a rag from his back pocket and handed it to him. The man, who was a good few inches taller than Arnold, stared down at him for a moment before accepting it.

"Thanks." He muttered, then after a pause, he said, "Well?"

"Well, what was that all about? What was Curly talking about?"

The man almost laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe you guys know each other."

"Yeah, neither can I."

The man looked down at him strangely, but didn't ask what Arnold meant. Instead he got straight to the point. "We tried to take down a dragon...obviously it didn't work."

"You tried to _kill_ a _dragon_? Are you crazy? How?"

"Pipe bombs."

"What?"

"Don't you know what a pipe bomb is?" He asked with a _what kind of idiot are you_ sort of tone.

"Yes, but how would a pipe bomb kill a dragon? You'd have to throw one in its mouth, give it a glass of water and say 'swallow'!" Arnold stated incredulously.

"Yeah, I know..." The man muttered. "I told you it didn't work. I thought that if we drew it close enough, and got it to open its mouth, we could light a bomb and toss it in." He gestured with his hands, which seemed to twitch and shake quite a bit. Arnold almost laughed out loud at such a stupid plan, but held his tongue.

"It didn't quite work that way. The dragon opened its mouth all right, nice and wide...then torched half the crew."

Arnold looked generally disturbed by this, and very sorry that it happened. And yet, the very idea fascinated him instantly. Kill a dragon? Could it actually be done?

"Who are you, anyway?" The man was asking him.

He had jet black hair just like Curly's, only most of it was pulled back into a pony tail with only a few untamed strands in his face, and it was slightly greasy like it hadn't been washed in months. His skin was terribly pale from a lack of sunlight and his eyes were dark.

Very dark.

Arnold noticed the shadow's beneath them and the bloodshot appearance within them and wondered just who exactly this person was.

"My name's Arnold. I helped start this community a few years back."

"Community?" The man seemed to be mocking Arnold as he scoffed at his word choice. "I wouldn't exactly call this a community, dude."

Arnold frowned at him. "You prefer Mr. Greene's basement?"

The other mans jaw twitched slightly and his eyes drifted toward the cement floor. The thin, red veins in his eyes seemed to pulse at the memory, and for a moment he neither spoke nor looked at Arnold.

"No," He said, almost too softly for Arnold to hear. "Sorry."

It wasn't much of an apology, but Arnold accepted it nonetheless.

"It's alright. We're doing our best here, which is pretty good all things considered."

The other man nodded as they continued walking.

"You still haven't told me your name." Arnold continued.

"Max...Maxwell Storm."

Arnold extended his hand, and Max shook it. Arnold could feel and see his entire hand trembling.

"Are you ok?" He asked when they broke the shake, gesturing to Max's hands.

"Huh? Oh, yeah...they always do that."

Arnold almost asked the reason, but decided not to. He had a strange feeling about Max, one that made him uncomfortable just a little bit. He'd ask Dr. Brandon about the shaking hands thing later.

Arnold found Curly among a crowd of people in what they'd taken to calling "The Main Hall." It was the central and most heavily occupied area of all the tunnels, and one of the few that didn't have sewage water running in a large gutter through it's center.

Presently, there was a game in progress that was similar to Botchy Ball, only it was being played with rocks and pieces of brick that had been slightly rounded by the chess and checkerboard maker. He didn't round them too much; otherwise they'd roll right into the next hall and into the water.

Because of the lack of rocks and space, only six or seven people could play at a time, but it had become a popular pastime to sit and watch people play.

Even if you didn't watch the games, the Hall usually had a large amount of people just mingling or sitting around.

Arnold wasn't surprised when he found Curly at the back of the crowd and hardly paying attention.

"Hey, man."

Curly looked over at him and didn't say anything at first. Then he shook his head, chuckling softly as he leaned against the dirty cavern wall.

A slightly puzzled look crossed the blond boys face, but he waited for Curly to speak.

"Man, of all the people to run in to after all this time..."

Arnold had to grin slightly in agreement. Curly was the last person he would have expected to ever see or hear from again.

"And this place!" Curly made a waving gesture with both hands as his eyes scanned the Hall in never-ending amazement. "I mean...jee-whiz!"

Arnold smiled wider. He never left himself much time to be proud of himself for all they'd accomplished here, even when he'd been defending it to Max. But hearing someone's praise did feel sort of good.

"This place is amazing. All these little houses-"

"That was Ernie's idea."

"And everything's so organized, and..." Now he turned to look at Arnold, seeming to be giving him a once over. "And look at _you_!"

Arnold looked down at himself out of a natural habit of self-consciousness. Had he really changed that much?

"You're not exactly the same either." He said with a casual smile.

"Yeah, no more little freak for me." Curly paused there for a moment, a grave look clouding his naturally boyish features. "But then, I don't think anybody's really the same, are they."

It was more of a factual statement than a question, but Arnold couldn't stop the first thought that popped into his head.

_Grandma never changed._

Even though she seemed to know exactly what was going on, she never strayed from being the crazy old lady he would remember in his dreams.

"No," Arnold said instead, "I guess no one's really the same."

"I saw Helga earlier, but I didn't get a chance to talk to her...she doin' ok?" Curly asked.

"Yeah, better than she was...much better." Arnold didn't elaborate, so Curly didn't ask.

"Did any of the others make it? You know, from school?"

When Arnold shook his head, Curly nodded, accepting that answer. He hadn't really been holding out any hope.

The two friends watched the game being played for a long time, talking quietly every once in a while. They hadn't exactly been good friends before, but having known each other and survived this long gave them a familiar connection that couldn't be ignored.


	10. All I Have Left

Chapter 10: All I Have Left

A/N: From this point out I stray from Arnold's POV just to give you a little more of Helga, and even some of Sara, who will become a more important character later.

The hospital was quiet. Naturally it was very dark, but now most of the patients were asleep.

Sara Ivory was sitting on a blanket against the wall, dozing lightly. She had a small child in her lap who was clinging to her in a fitful sleep. Her legs were stretched out before her and being used as a pillow by a slightly older child, and a little girl was curled up against her.

Knowing that she would soon slip off onto a peaceful cloud of slumber, Sara forced her almond brown eyes open one last time to scan the darkened room and make sure all was well. Dr. Brandon had gone somewhere and left her in charge with Helga there to help. But since the few people that were there was either sleeping or close to it, Sara allowed her muscles to relax and hoped that sleep would take her as quickly as it was threatening to.

Just as her eyes were closing though, a high-pitched little whine floated suddenly to her ears. It came from the duffel bag that was sitting just at the foot of the nearest cot. But it was too far for her to reach even if she hadn't already been covered with children.

"Helga?" Sara whispered a plea for help, but Helga was already heading that way. She picked up the entire duffel bag, not wanting to bring the baby out into the damp air just yet.

"Thanks." Sara said tiredly, and Helga cast her a soft smile before returning to the cot she'd been sitting on. It was occupied by the young boy who'd escaped the dragon yesterday, who'd just fallen asleep not but two minutes ago.

Helga reclaimed her seat on the far edge of the bed and set the duffel bag in her lap. But when her attempts to sooth the baby didn't work, she wrapped the infant girl securely and lifted her from the bag.

Now wrapped and feeling a pair of strong, tender arms supporting her, the infants cries slowly ceased, and her bright little eyes gazed up at Helga curiously. Helga, in turn, looked down at the fair-skinned little bundle with an almost equal curiosity. What had Dr. Brandon said? They were watching her until her father could find a proper place for them?

Helga hoped a place could be found. Ernie had stopped making apartments and started working on a project that he had yet to explain to anyone, not even Arnold. Helga figured it helped him pass the time and keep him sane. Many people had found such hobbies.

Even in the natural darkness, Helga could tell that this baby was of mixed ethnics. Her thin hair was extremely dark, and her skin was slightly darker than that of your average Caucasian baby. She was obviously half African-American, but it was beyond Helga what the other half could possible be.

She sat quietly holding the baby close. The baby's eyes searched Helga's face, and for a brief moment, recognition sparked in the back of Helga's mind. She started slightly at the thought, but it passed as quickly as it had come, and she was left with nothing but a baby in her arms and a question that lingered, floating somewhere in the darkness.

When Helga awoke, she found the baby gone from her arms and a few of the hospital's occupants awake. She couldn't remember having laid down with the baby, or the father coming back for her, but somewhere during the course of the night the baby disappeared and Helga fell asleep. And judging by how tired she still felt, Helga knew she hadn't slept nearly long enough.

"Helga?"

She glanced up at the owner of the voice and saw Dr. Brandon, who appeared to have been standing there for a moment before he spoke.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, just a little tired still, I guess." Helga coughed a little.

"Well, that's understandable. I don't think you slept more than an hour or two, if that. You were still awake when I came back to get the baby."

Helga only nodded at the doctor, not completely listening to what he was saying. And she wasn't about to admit that she didn't remember him coming back at all.

Brandon smiled at her sympathetically. "Why don't you go home and get some rest."

Helga looked up at him and, with an apologetic smile and a nod, she agreed to do just that. Brandon leant a hand to pull her to her feet, and then sent her on her way.

With her body on autopilot, Helga made her way to the alcove that she and Arnold had shared with Grandma.

_Grandma..._ Helga could feel her gut wrenching at the thought. Arnold's Grandma was gone.

_Have I even been back home since then?_ Helga couldn't even recall having gone back home to sleep the night before last. She'd been at the hospital with Sara and the kids.

She shook her head to clear it a little, doing her best not to bump in to anyone as she walked. A little more sleep was just what she needed to clear her head. She wondered where Arnold was.

"Finally! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Helga found herself suddenly wrapped in a pair of strong arms that belonged to someone she didn't know, but who was obviously glad to see her. When she pulled back, she found herself staring into a familiar, yet implacable face. It took a moment for her mind to register what she was seeing.

"Curly?" Helga hoped beyond hope that she wasn't dreaming.

Here was someone she'd somehow formed a friendship with over the past few years before the attack. One could say that their reputations as outcasts had driven them into friendship.

Upon realizing that her mind was not just playing tricks on her, Helga threw her arms around her friend in a tight embrace. She knew right away that he'd probably come in with that small group of survivors, but she had to ask, "What happened to you?"

He brought her to arms length and looked at her, a sad sort of smile on his face.

"I'll tell you sometime...but not now. You have no idea how good it is to see you."

They talked as they continued down the tunnel path, but Helga later could not recall anything they discussed; only that Curly was a completely different person.

That and he never mentioned where he'd been or what he'd been doing, and avoided the subject completely.

"Yeah, and now Gerald and I are staying with you and Arnold." Curly was saying, but the sudden mention of a familiar name caught Helga off guard.

She wasn't able to voice a question about it at that moment, though, because they were already to the alcove and walking through the curtain doorway.

There Helga stopped.

Arnold had been milling about the room and paused when he saw her, but he wasn't the one that made her stop.

Gerald was looking back at Helga from across the room and had been about to greet her until he caught the look in her eyes. Lupita was in his arms, sucking on her little fist contentedly.

And somehow, though nobody said a word, the recognition clicked and Helga knew whose baby that was. But she wasn't sure if she believed it. She looked back and forth between father and daughter, matching the similarities, then compared them to the mental image she still carried of her best friend. She knew Phoebe and Gerald had been seriously crushing on each other once upon a time, but...

Curly remained quiet as he stood beside Helga. He sensed the sudden tension immediately, but had no idea what had caused it.

Arnold, on the other hand, did.

"Helga-" He tried to say, but she cut him off.

"Where is she?" Her tone was so calm that is made Arnold nervous, as well as Gerald. "Where's Phoebe?"

When no one answered right away, Helga screamed, "Where _is_ she?"

"She's gone, Helga!" Arnold exclaimed a little more harshly than he'd meant to, and bit his tongue.

Helga's desperate expression drifted back and forth between Gerald and Arnold, as if Arnold had had something to do with it. Then, without a word, she turned and fled.

"Helga, wait!" Curly called out, turning to go after her, but was stopped by Arnold.

"Let me go."

Curly almost asked why, but the question faltered when he saw the look in the blonde man's eyes. He knew Arnold had spent all this time living with Helga, and that he probably knew her now better than Curly ever had. Arnold probably knew her better than either he or Gerald could possibly imagine, and though Curly would have rather gone himself, he nodded in compliance.

Arnold placed his hand on Curly's shoulder for just a moment before hurrying out after Helga.

Curly watched him leave, and then turned toward Gerald, who'd taken a seat on the bed Arnold had set up for him. Lupita had begun wailing softly just a few seconds ago, and Gerald held her close in his arms. His blood-shot eyes remained unfocused and aimed toward the ground as they misted over.

Curly's stomach twisted in pain as it did every time he saw his friend hurting. He walked over and sat beside Gerald on the bed, offering his finger for little 'Pita to suck on, which calmed her some. He knew better than to try and take her from Gerald. The young father always wanted, or needed, to have her close in his arms during times like this when he missed his wife the most.

Curly placed his other hand firmly on Gerald's shoulder, comforting him as he'd done all those other times when they lived in the darkness of Mr. Greene's basement.

Curly knew then that Arnold had made a wiser choice than he knew. Curly was once good friends with Helga, but he probably barely knew her now, and Gerald needed him.

_I guess time can turn anything backwards,_ he thought idly regarding his and Arnolds switched roles.

No matter how hard he ran, Arnold just couldn't seem to catch up with Helga, who was already a good distance ahead of him. He weaved his way between people and anything else blocking his path, just barely being able to see the blonde girl each time she turned a corner. As they got further and further from the Main Hall, Arnold grew more and more concerned.

_Please don't be going there...please don't...please..._

But she was.

At last she stopped running, but only so she could start climbing.

Going outside in her state spelled certain death. Was that her goal?

"Helga, no!"

She was a third of the way up the 30-foot ladder by the time he reached it, and fortunately he was a much faster climber than she was. After all, he'd been up and down the ladders numerous times. He couldn't recall if she'd ever gone back outside since he brought her in.

Within seconds Arnold had reached her and climbed up so that he was right next to her, going fast enough that she didn't get a chance to kick him off. Being much stronger than she was, he grabbed her around the waist forcefully. He'd felt sorry for her before, but now it was time to draw the line.

"Let me go!" Helga screamed, trying to fight him without falling off the ladder.

Arnold tried to pry her fingers off the ladder, knowing that he could probably carry her down with one arm if worse came to worse.

Helga's knuckles were turning white as her death-grip on the ladder held firm, and all the while she screamed at him.

"Just let go!" Arnold demanded, but she would not. "I'll throw you off, if that's what it takes!"

"Go ahead, Hair-boy!" The nickname was spat out like a curse, and before Arnold knew what he was doing, he lurched backwards and to the side, the weight of his body ripping them both from the security of the ladder.

A/N: So what did you think? A little too dramatic? I was trying my best to convey the loss Helga is feeling over Phoebe, who was, as we all know, her best and only friend growing up.


	11. A Promise

Chapter 11: A Promise

Arnold forced his eyes open, the veins in his skull pounding painfully with each beat of his heart. He moaned as he sat up, his back muscles cracking in protest.

A sudden, pain-filled cry caused Arnold to jump, remembering all at once what had happened. Helga was gripping her arm with a horribly strained look on her face.

A slight wave of panic washed over Arnold, and he hurried over to Helga on all fours, ignoring the screaming of his stiff bones. "Are you ok-"

Arnold flew backwards and landed hard on his back, his jaw throbbing. He could taste the blood from his broken cheek as it filled his mouth. Rolling over, he spat a large amount onto the cement. With his mouth now half free of the nasty liquid, Arnold swore rather loudly, wiping his mouth with his tattered shirt.

Helga turned away from him, fury burning in her ocean blue eyes as they filled with tears. But it was not the piercing pain in her arm that caused those tears.

After a moment silence, Arnold knew they needed to head back and was beside the disoriented girl once again and taking her good arm to help her stand. She pulled away, still refusing to look at him.

Arnold leapt to his feet and spit more blood from his mouth onto the ground, his fists clenching and un-clenching in frustration. "What _is _it with you?"

"Shut up." She muttered.

"No, I'm not gonna shut up, Helga! This time you've gone too far, when are you gonna snap out of it?"

Arnold knew he'd lost it this time, but he didn't much care at the moment. Yes, he felt bad for Helga. Somewhere deep inside, his heart was breaking right along with hers. But he would not, _could_ not, let her behave like this anymore. He'd seen and felt the consuming guilt in Gerald's eyes and feared that the baby was the only thing keeping him going. He would never truly know what Gerald was going through, but he was not going to let Helga's actions add to his best friend's grief.

That was half the reason he was angry. The other half was part fury at Helga for being so selfish, and part after-shock of the horror he'd felt when he realized what she'd almost done. She was willing to kill herself because of Phoebe, but what about _him_? Didn't _he_ matter to her at all?

"Gerald _loved_ Phoebe! He _married_ the girl, for cryin' out loud!"

"He killed her." Helga said, her voice strained. It was almost as if she knew it wasn't true, but was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"He did _not_ kill her!" Arnold shouted, throwing his arms up into the air in exasperation. "She _wanted_ to have a baby!"

Helga was shaking her head and biting her lower lip as tears streamed down her pale face. She was hugging herself so tightly that the pain in her broken limb shot through her shoulder, but she didn't care.

"Why can't you see beyond yourself for once?" Arnold continued to yell. "What were you going to do, let a dragon swallow you whole and solve all your problems for you? You think you're the only one that wants to die around here, Helga? _Huh?_ Every single God-forsaken soul in these caves has lost someone they love, even that baby! They lost their homes, families, best friends, _everything_!"

Arnold pointed an accusing finger at her, as if he could send a lightening bolt through her thick head and make her understand. "How _dare_ you think you're the only one with problems! Why can't you be happy for Phoebe? She may not have been with _you_ all that time, but she was _alive_! She was alive and in _love_! Gerald loved her for years before any of this happened, and she loved him! She wanted to marry him and have a baby-"

"I know."

The words were soft, forced out through a gut-wrenching sob. Arnold stopped mid-rant, but the flame of his anger was still burning hot. "What do you mean?"

"She was...sick...Phoebe was." Her voice halted as she tried to speak around the constriction in her chest. "She explained it...to me once...I don't remember...what it...what it was...something hereditary on her dad's side, or...or something...they didn't think she'd...be able to have...to have children...they said it was dangerous...that she might not...have the strength...that she might not..."

The last of Arnold's burning embers died away as Helga spoke. _She knew about Phoebe's illness? Phoebe would probably still be alive if she hadn't had the baby...if she hadn't married Gerald...if they hadn't..._

Arnold knelt down beside Helga, the heartache he felt for her now replacing the anger that had emanated in his deep green eyes. He was still upset with her, but the fury was gone.

"Helga..." He started softly, "Gerald didn't know-"

"I know, Arnold." She paused. "I know Gerald wouldn't have done it if she'd told him. She always wanted a baby..." Now she turned her face toward Arnolds, he eyes swollen and bloodshot as they searched his for an answer to the helplessness she felt inside.

"She told me a few times how bad she wanted to have a baby someday. It was all she _really_ wanted. She would've given up all her awards and stuff...her ability to win them...if only she could have a baby..."

Fresh tears broke loose as she turned her face toward the ground again, almost afraid that he'd get mad again. Arnold reached around and gently pulled her toward him. She leaned against him, but didn't embrace him or cry into his shoulder. She simply cried, all strength having left her body long ago.

_She's so warm_...Arnold thought, which was odd considering the cold, dampness of the sewers.

"I'm so sorry, Arnold," Helga said after a short while, "I'm so very sorry."

"It's alright." Arnold said without hesitation, moving a little closer to her without putting any pressure on her arm. He had already thought about how he might react if he were in the same position. If Grandpa had been alive all this time and had only just recently died, he would probably want someone to blame.

"Just promise me something." He said.

He took her lack of response as his cue to continue.

Arnold swallowed. _No turning back_. If he didn't say it now, he might not get a chance to later. "Promise me that you won't ever try something like that again."

Helga looked up at him, but didn't say anything.

"Please, Helga. I can't...I can't lose you, too." His voice cracked a little, which was pretty abnormal for someone his age, but he didn't care. "You're all I have left. Please don't leave me here alone."

Helga was so exhausted and in so much pain, yet she stared into those fiery green eyes and saw something she'd never seen there before. Desperation.

"I promise, Arnold."


	12. Jeremy is Dead

Chapter 12: Jeremy is Dead.

A long time later after most of everybody was asleep again, Arnold carried a sleeping Helga Pataki to the hospital so that Dr. Brandon could splint her arm. It was clear that the doctor wasn't pleased about the accident, which Arnold understood, but Brandon was even more displeased with the fact that Arnold wasn't telling him exactly what had happened. 'She fell' was far from a good explanation.

Helga jumped awake and coughed a little when Brandon set her arm, then quickly fell back asleep as he splinted and bandaged the broken limb. It didn't bother Arnold at all that she was sleeping so heavily, in fact it relieved him a little. But Dr. Brandon seemed very concerned.

"Arnold, I know you don't want to tell me what happened today, but I'm very worried."

"Why?" Arnold asked.

"This morning was the first time I've seen her sleep in a while."

"How often do you see her sleep at all?" Arnold said with a light, off-handed tone. It wasn't as if Brandon lived with them in their flat and monitored when and where Helga slept. But Brandon looked at Arnold crossly, not finding it funny in the slightest.

"I'm worried about her _health_, Arnold." The gravity with which he spoke grabbed Arnold's concern.

"What do you mean?"

"You know a lot of the kids have been getting sick over the past few months."

Arnold nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I think it might be some form of consumption."

Arnold face was blank. "A what?"

"Consumption. It's an old disease that affects the lungs and muscles. It used to effect people back before vaccines were developed, usually springing up in large cities or industrial areas where there was little sunlight and people lived in damp and dirty environments."

Arnold frowned. "Like here."

"Exactly."

"How serious is it?"

"For Helga, I'm not sure. If she has it, that is. She's quite a bit older than any of the other cases I've seen so far." Here Brandon paused, cleaning up what few supplies he'd left laying around after splinting Helga's arm.

Arnold waited for Brandon to continue while he retrieved a blanket from the end of the bed and covered the sleeping girl with it. While he did, something occurred to him.

"Brandon...that kid that died last week...did she have it?"

"I believe so." He said quietly.

"Was she the first to die from it?"

Brandon had taken a seat on the next cot over and was rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking quite exhausted. "No. There were two others."

Both men were quiet for a long time. Arnold watched Helga sleep peacefully, and the thought that she might not wake up again sent a shiver through his body.

He chided himself. He knew next to nothing about this disease.

"What can we do?"

"I'm not sure, Arnold. Even with the good supply of medicines we were able to recover, I don't think I have anything that would help us here. I think the only other thing we could do is give them sunlight and fresh air. But we'd have to take them outside for that."

"Yeah..."

There was another long silence before Brandon spoke again. "The best thing we can do now is pray."

Arnold resisted the urge to give the doctor a skeptical look. He knew Dr. Brandon was a religious man, and he didn't want to be rude. But he didn't think praying was something he could do very well.

**Arnold sat back and pinched the top of his nose between his eyes, closing them as he did so. Those next few weeks had been so crazy for him, but there was hardly anything written about them in the next couple paragraphs. Mostly all he'd recorded was technical information about the survival of the community. He had a paragraph explaining James Weston's plan to supply more water by boiling the water running through the tunnels. There were off-handed mentions of the other survivors from the dragon-slaying incident. Some other mindless details, and of course the breakout of consumption was mentioned and explained, but nothing at all about Helga being ill, or the conversation he'd managed to have with little Justin after the death of his sister, or that sudden episode with Sara Ivory. **

**Arnold gazed down at his left hand and turned it over, revealing the deep scarring all over his palm and fingers. Yes, he remembered that day, in a manner of speaking. Not that Sara had been the cause of it, quite the contrary. **

**One could honestly say that the incident actually healed her of what she'd been suffering at the time, in a way. **

Arnold couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. He looked up at James and Misha again, his expression still that of surprise, and then looked back down at the cup in his hands. Or rather, the contents of the cup.

Water.

Not purified and far from perfect, but clean, clear water.

From the sewer drains.

And it all made perfect sense. For almost two years, not a single toilet in the city had been flushed. Now, granted, people had been dumping their buckets of waste into the water, but for some reason the people had naturally decided to walk a distance away from the community to empty their buckets, so any water flowing anywhere near the living area had eventually began to run clean without anyone noticing. Not only that, but also the fact that it was still running at all was a miracle in itself!

Arnold looked up at the two men again, who were both smiling, and he smiled back. "This is awesome." Arnold said.

"Well, it's not exactly Purell," James said humbly through his thick Australian accent, though he was obviously pleased with his accomplishment, "but it works."

"And just in time, too." Arnold said, recalling that their last water run a couple weeks ago had been unsuccessful. After their first hose had run dry, they'd been transporting water from another hose a few blocks away. But that one had ceased to work just a week ago, and by this time what water they had was almost gone.

"I'm gonna head back to the clinic," Arnold said then, handing the cup back to Misha, "Do you want me to come back later and help you guys out?"

"Nah, you go ahead and stick with the doc, he probably needs you more than we do. I'll snag someone if we need help." Misha said.

"Alright."

Arnold allowed himself another small smile as he moved down the tunnel path, making his way toward the Main Hall. This stroke of good fortune was definitely something they needed right now.

Suddenly Arnold saw Sara Ivory heading straight for him, a strange expression gracing her fair features. His heartbeat quickened. _Helga..._

He moved quickly toward the other girl, but she spoke before he had a chance, and it was definitely not what he'd expected to hear.

"Arnold, is it true? They tried to kill a dragon?"

It took a second for Arnold to shake himself from his previous thoughts, then another second for him to wonder why she hadn't heard about it before now.

"Yeah."

"Where is he?" Sara asked. No, she was _demanding_. But was she referring to Maxwell of Curly? Did she actually know either of them? Or perhaps she meant someone else whom he hadn't yet met.

Arnold was at a loss for words. Sara was a fairly level-headed girl, quite a bit like Brandon in character. Yet now there was a wild sort of anger in her eyes that was completely foreign to her usually positive demeanor.

"Uh...who?" Arnold finally managed to say.

"Max Storm. He's here, isn't he?"

"Um...yeah, he's..."

Then, as if on cue, Max appeared a distance away, facing them, watching them. Or more appropriately, he was watching Sara.

"..He's right there." Arnold pointed.

Sara turned around, following Arnold's pointing finger. She and Max saw each other, and Arnold suddenly felt as though he'd stepped on a land mine, though he had no idea why.

_What in the world is this all about?_ He wondered. Sara obviously knew Max from another life.

In a split second, Sara had closed the distance between herself and Max and, without an instant of hesitation, she let her hand fly.

There was a horrific crack that literally echoed off the concrete walls, and Max stumbled backwards, but didn't fall. One hand went to his face and he stared at the brunette girl with a look of complete shock in his dark eyes. Blood trickled from his nose.

Arnold ran up behind Sara but didn't dare interfere just yet. He wasn't too keen on sharing whatever _gift_ Max had just received.

Not a word was spoken within a ten foot radius. Anyone near enough to see what Sara had just done was too surprised to question her reason.

Anybody who'd met Max yet could understand if someone had a general dislike of him. In the week since he'd arrived he'd proven himself to be rude, cynical and quite arrogant. But this was obviously more than a general dislike on Sara's part.

Arnold watched Max carefully. He couldn't tell by his expression just exactly what the other man was thinking, or how he'd react.

Meanwhile, Sara's chocolate brown eyes burned intensely. "You killed him."

It was not a question.

Max looked at her squarely. "Nice to see you too." He muttered, wiping blood from his nose.

"That's all you have to say? Jeremy's dead and _that's all you can say_!"

_Jeremy_, Arnold thought, _who the heck is Jeremy._

"It wasn't my fault!" Max protested.

"Like hell is wasn't!"

Her word choice shocked more people than Arnold.

"He's dead because of you!"

"_I_ didn't kill _anybody_!" Max shouted furiously, looking ready to hit her back.

Sara suddenly ceased her barrage of charges against him, but it wasn't because she feared his returned anger. Suddenly there was a reserve in her countenance, the heated energy draining from her in a mere instant. At some point, tears had begun to flow down her face.

"You'll never change, will you?"

Max said nothing, but continued to stare her down as if by sheer intimidation he could drive her accusations away.

"I hate you." Sara's voice was barely above a whisper. Arnold was certain that only the three of them had heard it. There was a very slight shift in Max's countenance, but nothing that was noticed by anyone standing there.

Then Sara quietly walked away.

The two men left standing there were quiet for a long time. Arnold wanted to ask Max what that had been all about, but perhaps Max wasn't the person to ask. Arnold wasn't sure that he wanted to hear whatever side of the story Max had to share. He and Sara obviously had a history. Was it one Arnold wanted to dig up?

"You know Sara?" He asked.

Max nodded, obviously feeling no need to elaborate.

"Anyone else have a personal grudge against you that I should know about so you can avoid future nose bleeds?"

"Not that I know of." Max muttered darkly.

Arnold nodded and walked away.

Arnold could hear her coughing as he pulled back the curtain and walked into the clinic area. For the past couple of hours, he had pretty much put the incident out of his mind. Very little had been able to dominate his thoughts over the past week except one thing, Helga.

Dr. Brandon had set up another curtain at the end of the alcove to separate all the consumption patients from anyone else in the hospital, even though he was pretty certain it wasn't contagious. The separation was mainly to keep people calm and make sure the sickness didn't scare people away who might need medical attention.

Arnold made his way across the room and through the next curtain. Brandon sat beside a small boy who lay on one of the cots. He looked up as Arnold came in and tipped his head, but didn't say anything. Arnold acknowledged the greeting and continued on to Helga's bed. He sat down beside her and touched her shoulder gently. She stirred and opened her eyes, her tired gaze catching sight of him instantly.

"Hey." He said, keeping his voice low and soft. She smiled at him weakly, and he smiled back.

"How're you feeling?"

"Ok."

"How's your arm?"

"Broken." She said bluntly. Arnold was sure she had let out a little laugh at her own playful remark, but it was replaced by coughing so suddenly that even the smallest bit is laughter had no chance to escape. He waited patiently for it to subside. When it did, Helga lay still for a moment taking in long, even breaths through her nose.

Arnold, who'd leaned back slightly when the fit began, now leaned foreword again and placed his hand back on her shoulder affectionately.

Though Dr. Brandon was doing all he could, Helga seemed to be growing steadily worse. The same went for all the others. One or two older kids, both boys, had managed to recover, but that wasn't enough to ease Arnold's concern.


	13. The Brightest Stars Didn't Always Shine

Chapter 13: Even The Brightest Stars Weren't Always Shining.

He awoke to the sound of coughing, and knew right away that he'd fallen asleep in the hospital again. It was the third time this week.

He sat up and stretched his sore muscles. He'd slept on the end of Helga's bed with his feet still on the floor. How he'd managed to fall asleep like that every time was beyond his knowledge. All he knew was that each time he slept like a rock and woke up sore hours later. Seeing that his ill friend was still sleeping, Arnold stood and stretched again, planning to head back home and see what Gerald and Curly were up to.

But then he spotted a familiar head of brown hair across the room. She sat on one of the beds with her back to him, so she didn't notice him as he came toward her. He stood beside her for a moment silently, but still she seemed not to notice him there.

"Sara?"

She looked up, surprised to see him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from having cried some time ago, and after a split second she looked away again.

"Arnold," She exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't see you there."

"I know," He said, "It's alright."

Sara gave him a weak, half smile before turning her gaze back toward the small, pale figure in the bed. It was little Justin. Arnold couldn't believe he hadn't noticed him right away; he had been so preoccupied with Sara that he hadn't thought to look at the patient in the bed.

"How is he?"

"I...I don't know." But she _did_ know. Arnold could tell by her tone as well as Justin's appearance that the situation wasn't good. _Sara has to know that_, Arnold reasoned, which concerned him even more. She wasn't the type of person to deny reality.

"Sara, can I ask you something?" He started hesitantly. He wasn't even sure why he was asking at all. It was really none of his business, was it? However, he felt that it was important for him to know. This incident with Maxwell Storm, the second and hopefully the last, could not simply be ignored.

Ever since his brief conversation with the man, Arnold had been seriously considering the possibility of killing a dragon. And he wanted Max's help, but he was somewhat wary of the mans character. He needed an accurate account of Max's background, if one could be given, in order to now whether or not he could be trusted.

Whether they killed a dragon or not, Arnold did not want another massacre. One dragon's death was not worth the loss of countless others. Arnold needed to know if Max felt the same way, if he truly felt remorse for what had happened last time, or if he was willing to sacrifice more innocent lives on a fool's errand.

Anything Curly knew about Max was little more than Arnold had learned himself over the past week. Asking Sara was his only other option. That, and the fact that Arnold was simply concerned for the young nurse sitting before him.

Sara made no response to his request, so he plunged ahead. "Max Storm said he knew you before?"

She gave a single nod.

"Did you know him well?"

"I _did_." She said quietly, her tone indicating that her acquaintance with Max had ended some time ago.

"What happened?"

"He changed." Sara said flatly. Arnold waited for her to continue, but she didn't. He waited for a minute or two before he spoke. "Sara?"

"Hm."

"Can he be trusted?"

There was another long pause before she finally spoke. "I can't tell you, Arnold." She looked up at him with sincerity. "I don't know who he is anymore."

Her red eyes began to mist once more, but she did not cry. Arnold's heart went out to this normally positive Christian girl, whom they'd all thought they knew so well. But even the brightest stars weren't always shining. Everybody has a past.

Arnold didn't hesitate before asking his last question, because he knew that if he didn't ask now, he never would. "Do _you_ trust him?"

Sara looked back down at her pale little friend, and a tear slid down her cheek.

Arnold waited for an answer, but deep down inside, he realized it would probably never come.

And it never did.

Arnold looked up from writing in his journal when someone pulled open the curtain to his alcove. It was Misha, his curly brown hair bouncing in his face. He had a sad, weighted expression.

"Dr. Brandon needs you."

Pencil and paper abandoned, Arnold leapt to his feet and hurried past the other young man without a question, heading straight for the hospital. Misha followed after him.

When they arrived, Arnold headed straight for the isolated back room and pulled back the curtain. Helga lay still on her bed, and Arnold took a step toward her, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

"She's fine." Brandon said. "That's not why I called you."

Arnold looked at the doctor quizzically before following his gaze toward the other side of the room.

Sara was seated in the same place she'd been when Arnold saw her yesterday, and he wondered briefly if she'd moved at all. Justin lay still on his bed also, but unlike Helga, his face and skin had turned to a lucid white, similar to that of a bar of soap.

"He died early this morning." Brandon was saying, but Arnold was hardly listening. "She sat with him all night and hasn't left his side since."

Arnold barely waited for the doctor to finish before he quickly made his way over to the bed and stood beside the young nurse. Once again, he waited patiently to be noticed, unsure why he couldn't find it in himself to speak first.

"We have to bury him." Her voice was quiet and tight, as if her emotions were shut behind a locked door and pounding to be let out. But she kept them at bay.

"Ok." Arnold said in a similarly hushed voice, only his was one of a slight fear of what would happen if he were too loud and caused a dam of emotion to break.

Hesitantly, and as gently as possible, he placed his hand on her shoulder. He hadn't been hoping for a reaction, so it didn't phase him at all when he didn't get one. Sara remained as still as ever, her face a hard mask of stone.

Arnold felt a stare and looked over to see Misha standing in the doorway where he and Brandon had been moments ago. There was an intense sorrow in his features as he watched the grieving brunette. Misha looked up then and caught Arnold's gaze, then slowly turned and disappeared behind the doorway.


	14. Grave Diggers

Chapter 14: Grave Diggers

A/N: This is where I really start straying from Arnold a lot because of the events that will soon take place, and things will be a lot clearer if I tell it from other people POV's as well. For those of you who don't like reading about characters that aren't in the show (HA) and aren't too interested in the stuff going on with Dr. Brandon, Sara, Misha and Max...tough. I like to think of it as being a little like the ABC show "LOST". Jack and Kate aren't the only characters, there are also the other main characters, not to mention all those extras strolling around! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think about it all so far.

Tiny specs of green dotted the barren wasteland once known as Hillwood Park. Black, charred trees, dead for a number of years, still stood like skeletal scarecrows among the grey hills and mounds. The tiny sprinkles of green that had fought and forced their way to the surface were truly a sight for sore eyes, being one of few things actually growing out of the ground again. As lovely as the green was against the grey haze of everything else, though, it went almost completely unnoticed by the few people who were above ground to witness it.

Arnold wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He wasn't certain if his perspiration was caused by the strain of digging a six-foot hole with a dull shovel, or the tension of being out in the open for the past two hours digging these holes. He hated coming out here. He had no problem coming above ground, or digging six-foot holes, or even burying people in them. What he hated was the vulnerability of the area they'd chosen to erect a cemetery. Jonathan Ferral Cemetery was too far away and the park was, sickeningly enough, the only place that they figured would be large enough to properly bury the dead.

Beside him in the slowly expanding hole, Sara worked methodically with her shovel. Her stony expression hid whatever she might be feeling inside.

Arnold kept working, wishing he could talk to her, but knowing there was no point in trying. He'd tried once just before they'd come above ground, but she's brushed him off. He, Brandon and Misha had all told her she didn't have to come bury Justin and the other two children, but she'd insisted rather sharply, and with only a few words no one had dared refuse her. Once outside, she hadn't spoken to anybody.

Arnold recalled how he'd lost it when the people he loved had died. He'd shut every_one_ and every_thing_ out for a long time, but had eventually come back to reality. Was Sara lost like he had been? He couldn't believe that she could be this strong and stony toward everyone.

He had never seen her shed tears until she looked at Maxwell with such hatred that day, and since then she'd shut everybody out. Now, as a result of Justin's death, it was as though she'd built thick stone walls around herself and perhaps even put armed guards at the top to snipe anyone who got too close.

Arnold froze suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. In an instant he was aware that they were being watched. He glanced toward the other hole and saw Eric scanning the tops of buildings nearby. He'd felt it too; that undeniable sense of awareness.

The two men caught each others eye and instantly knew that it was time to leave. Arnold put his hand on Sara's arm to get her attention, and then spoke barely above a whisper. "We have to go."

A horrified look crossed her face, but not because she was afraid of a dragon. "I'm not leaving him."

Arnold knew what she meant. Justin's body lay a few yards away in a drawstring bag sewn from raddy pieces of unusable clothes, waiting to be buried.

"We have to leave _now_." He hissed.

"I'm not leaving him out here-"

"Do you want to be buried _with_ him?" Arnold immediately noted how heartless that comment had sounded, but he had no time to apologize or argue with her.

A distant howl split the air, and within seconds the winged demon was bearing down on them.

"Run!" Eric yelled as they clamored out of the holes, leaving shovels and unfinished tasks behind.

Arnold was giving Sara a boost out of the hole when Misha appeared before them and pulled her out. Eric and the other men dove clear of a string of flame as the dragon swooped at them. While it was soaring back into the sky to circle around, Eric and the others helped smother the flames on one mans coat before hurrying off toward the road.

Sara ran and stumbled down next to Justin's body, trying to lift it into her arms.

"No! Come one!" Arnold commanded, grabbing her by the arms from behind and wrenching her off of the heavy sack.

The dragon flew down again and managed to take one of the others back up into the air with it. The groups strategy had always been to spread out in the event of an attack, which would hopefully result in only a few casualties. So far, it was working.

Sara fought against Arnold, but Misha appeared once again to help.

"Sara, please, come on!" He begged.

The dragon dove in again and picked up one of the other bodies a short distance away, sending a rush of air that knocked them over as the dragon took off over the buildings and curved around to attack again.

Sara forced her legs to move against her will and allowed Arnold to pull her with him as they ran, losing track of Misha somewhere between the park and the road. They fell flat on the pavement as the dragon swooped in again, miraculously missing them by a few yards.However, the two young people had no time to wonder about this phenomenon. Arnold ushered Sara beneath a broken down bus and there they both remained for a few heated moments while Arnold racked his brain frantically in an attempt to get his bearings and figure out the best possible route to the nearest manhole. Eric and the few other men had long since vanished from sight; Arnold hoped that they'd made it to safety.

He and Sara both cowered a little further beneath the cover of the bus as the hell-bringer made one pass, then another. But it was not coming down upon them, seeming to have forgotten about them completely. Instead, it was roaring in a rage and flying over Justin's freshly dug grave as though in a daze. Justin's body was no where to be seen.

That's when they saw something rise up from the dark hole, barely visible from where Arnold and Sara lay on the ground. It was a round ball of curly brown hair.

"Oh, God..." Sara breathed hoarsely.

Misha was trapped in the hole.

If Arnold's mind had been searching for a plan before, it was positively groping for one with every ounce of strength it possessed now. He knew he had to draw the dragon away from Misha without endangering Sara, or himself for that matter. Whatever he did would have to be loud enough to draw the dragon's attention. Making a run for it was out of the question.

An image of his Grandma running toward a ferocious beast flashed through his mind, and he blocked it out quickly.

Scanning the street, his steady green eyes fell on a motorcycle that stood against the curb about a block and a half away. It looked like a relatively recent model, though pretty beat up, but so far untouched by dragon fire. The tires were completely deflated, but it appeared to be in good working order, and Arnold could swear on his extra change of clothes that he could see a key chain dangling from the ignition.

Of course, Arnold reminded himself, looks could be deceiving, and the tires could easily pose a problem. But if he could get it running...

Arnold looked at Sara. "Stay here."

That same horrified look as before graced her features. She gripped his arm. "Helga will never forgive me if you die today."

Arnold placed his calloused hand firmly over hers. "I won't."

Their grips on each other tightened when the dragon swooped down again and, with a thunderous roar, rained fire in and around the hole. It hovered for a moment just above the ground, smoke curling from it's nostrils, before it shot back into the sky. For a few horrible seconds they thought for sure that they'd lost their friend. Then his head popped back into view as he tried desperately to climb out of the hole before the dragon returned.

Arnold couldn't wait another moment. He looked at Sara as though he were about to say something, but she beat him to it. "Go."

Arnold shimmied out from under the bus and leapt to his feet in one swift motion, taking off at a dead run toward the motorcycle.

"Lord, help us..." Sara whispered fervently, watching him go.

The creature rushed in again and shot its deadly flame, but this time the fire missed the hole entirely. Sarah could scarcely believe her eyes.

Arnold skidded to a stop and threw himself onto the seat of the bike, kicking the stand up with his foot and thanking his lucky stars that the keys were indeed there. Somewhere throughout his childhood he'd been given a crash coarse on driving one of these suckers by one of the boarders. He hoped he remembered everything.

"Come on...come on..." He tried and tried, the engine sputtering and grinding in protest. It had been resting peacefully for the past two years and had no intention of giving in easily.

"Please...please, God..." Sara continued to pray, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple.

There was a sharp pop that bounced off of the buildings, and the little engine finally shuddered to life. Arnold revved it a few times and started off down the road, wobbly at first as the gears moaned at his inexperience. But he was soon whizzing off down the road. The remains of the tires only lasted a few moments before shattering into clumps all over the pavement, leaving a trail behind. As he gained speed, the tire rims hit the pavement so rapidly that sparks began to fly in the motorcycles wake.

By this time the dragon had taken full notice of the new soon-to-be victim, and had all but forgotten the snack in the hole that it had been trying so hard to reach, with no success. It cried out as if to inform the blonde man of his impending doom and shot after him.

As soon as the dragons back was toward her, Sara climbed out from under the bus and took off toward the hole that Misha was already climbing out of.

"Go back!" Misha yelled at her, but she ignored him as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out. As soon as he was on his feet, Sara saw something down in the hole that made her pause. In a far corner, slightly blackened but still intact, was the rag sack containing Justin's body. In that instant Sara knew why Misha had fallen behind them, but she had no chance to say anything to him , for he'd already grabbed her hand and started running.

Arnold could barely hear the engines roar above the pounding of his heart against his ribcage or the thunderous roar of the dragon as it closed in on him. He was hitting the highest speed that the bike could manage with no tires, and he wasn't sure it would last as he rounded a corner sharply, swerving precariously around all manner of debris and obstacles. His only means of staying alive at the moment was to turn as many corners and travel as many narrow alleyways as humanly possible.

Intense heat swelled around him in waves as the dragon tried to roast him alive, and each time Arnold just barely escaped the flames. But the dragon was getting closer, to that there was no question. The last wave had sent flames licking at his back, and he knew he couldn't keep this up for very long.

The enormous demon let out a howl of fury as it smashed it's side into the corner of a building to emphasize just how fed up it was with all this ridiculous chasing.

Arnold swerved out onto the main road and down to the next block. As he turned the next corner, a burst of flame swept at him from the side and caught his coat sleeve and hair. The heat around him was so intense that Arnold sped half way down the next street in his haste to get away before he felt his arm burning.

His surprised exclamation went unheard even to himself over the roar of the engine, and he tried desperately to swat out the flames while keeping the bike steady.

It didn't work.

He'd almost extinguished the flame when he lost control and did a 180-degree turn, crashing down onto the pavement and pinning his leg beneath the heavy motorcycle. With barely seconds to spare, he ripped himself free, sparing no comfort to his badly gashed and fractured leg, and stumbled down the nearest alley, forcing strength into his numb body as he tried futilely to pick up speed. He looked back as the scratching and pounding of the dragon's clawed footsteps quickly approached his position, and in that moment he knew he was going to die.

With his thoughts running ninety miles an hour, Arnolds eyes fell on a nearby dumpster and he ran for it as best he could, throwing himself over the side and into the emptiness of it's base.

Just as he slammed the lid shut, the winged demon's hideous head came whipping around the corner, the fire that it could easily create burning wildly in it's eyes as it sought out the little morsel who'd given it more exercise than it had desired.

Arnold held his breath as he waited. Waited for what, he had no idea, but it was a dreadfully long wait. The sudden silence was far worse than the deafening noise before, but he didn't dare open the lid to investigate the dragon's whereabouts.

Suddenly, as though in response to Arnold's curiosity, the silence was ripped in two by a horrendous howl, followed by a rushing flame that engulfed the entire alleyway in a hellish inferno.

Arnold leapt away from where he'd been leaning against the side of the dumpster, which was now searing hot to the touch. The heat inside the steel bin rose up so quickly that Arnold instantly felt as though he were trapped in an oven. The air became so thick with heat that he couldn't breathe. He felt faint and reached out to steady himself. The instant he did he could hear, rather than feel, the sizzling sound of his flesh as it came in contact with the heated steel. Screaming, he jerked his hand away, almost knocking himself into the opposite wall in the process.

His vision blurred as he stared at his scorched hand that bled where bits of skin had torn off. At first, he screamed again and his voice became hoarse in his own ears. Then shock began to settle in on him as he struggled to breath. He faintly realized that his feet were starting to hurt more intensely than anything else, and he looked down to find his shoes melting away beneath him.

Arnold teetered and fell over, barely aware of the hot metal against his face as the darkness stole him away.


	15. Waiting for Dawn to Break

Chapter 15: Waiting for the Dawn to Break

The sound of Ernie's feet pounding against the concrete resembled those of a toddler running from a foreseen punishment. When he spotted his destination, a disheveled group of people sent out on grave duty, he realized right away that there were people missing. Or more specifically, there was a certain person missing.

"What happened? Where's Arnold?"

"We don't know," Eric said as he and another man assisted the limping man between them, "we split up. Lost track of him. Misha and Sara, too."

"Ezra and Mike didn't make it." Said the injured man, wincing not only from the pain in his body but also from that of losing his friends. Dr. Brandon hurried into view at that moment.

"Jack! Eric, what happened? We heard the dragon-" He was saying as he briefly examined the injured man before joining in to help him to the hospital.

"We only got half the graves finished and filled back up. We were almost done digging the other ones when it came on us out of nowhere."

"I'm going out." Ernie said suddenly as he turned.

"Ernie, you can't! You'll get yourself killed!" Brandon argued.

"I'm not leavin' Arnold out there!"

"If you go out there now, you'll be dragon food before you can even look down the street!" Eric said. "He's up and prowling around right now because he knows we've been outside!"

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" Ernie protested.

"Me too, but we can't really afford to take chances, can we?"

Ernie turned and began walking away.

"Arnold's not an idiot, Ernie! He knows how to take care of himself!"

Ernie ignored Brandon.

"If you go out there and die now, and he comes back and finds you gone, he'll have to live with your death too!"

Now Ernie stopped. If Arnold came back...He knew that the chances of Arnold still being alive were very slim. But if Arnold was alive...if he was alive...

Ernie looked down at his feet for a moment. Would it even matter to Arnold if he died?

The burly little man scowled at himself. He knew Arnold better than to think he didn't care. He was an angry kid, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring. He couldn't let Arnold suffer another loss.

He turned and looked at Brandon and Eric sharply. "Dawn." He said, clearly unwilling to compromise. "I'll give you until dawn to get people around, and then I'm going."

"I think it's gone." Misha whispered in the darkness, his voice barely above the volume of a single breath. He and Sara had been pursued by another dragon and had taken cover within the rubble of a destroyed building. Thankfully the dragon hadn't seen them dive under the wreckage, and so it flew off into the air with a howl of rage.

That had been hours ago and here the two young people still hid, silently.

"Maybe we should wait a little longer." Misha continued, apparently thinking out loud.

"Misha?" Sara said quietly. It was the first thing she'd said in a while. "Thank you for what you did. You didn't have to do it." She was looking straight at him, and Misha was a little surprised to see the vast amount of emotion in her eyes.

"I wanted to do it." He said softly. But where Sara's eyes held a sheer gratitude and appreciation, his shown with something different. Something tender and affectionate. Something he hoped she would finally notice.

"Thank you, Misha." She said, but much to Misha's dismay, he couldn't detect any change in her demeanor toward him.

As quiet fell between them once again, Misha thought through his situation for the millionth time. Ever since the first moment he'd seen Sara helping Dr. Brandon in the hospital, Misha knew that he loved her and would do just about anything for her. But two years had passed and he'd had yet to tell the lovely brunette any of this. He had no explanation for his nervousness. He assumed that perhaps it was a fear of rejection. He'd never been good at talking to girls before. In fact, he couldn't recall ever having tried, even in high school.

Another problem was the fact that he knew almost nothing about her. Two years and they were barely friends. All he knew was that she was nineteen or so, a year younger than he. She once had a female cat named Bob that had had boxed back legs, and she used to watch a show called Cowboy Bebop and old re-runs of MASH. Other than that, Misha knew nothing about Sara's family or past. Not that it was any of his business, he reasoned, which was always his excuse for not asking. But he knew she had no friends or family in the tunnel community that she'd known before the attacks. What had her life been like before? Where did she go to school, what was her family like and does she know what happened to them?

Misha glanced sidelong at her. She was a gentle, friendly person. Shy and not always the most positive or boisterous, but a little outgoing when you caught her in the right mood.

Ever since that Maxwell Storm person showed up, though, Sara had suddenly become quiet and reserved, as if a shadow suddenly loomed over her. If it had been hard to talk to her before, it was nearly impossible now. Sara appeared to hate Max's very presence, and Misha wished with all his heart that he knew what had gone on between the two of them.

"We should go." Sara's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he considered her words for a moment.

"No, we shouldn't risk it yet."

Before, he had been planning to sneak out in the darkness. Only now did it occur to him that the dragons could possibly be nocturnal, since they never seemed to appear during the day unless someone outside made a lot of noise. Even if the theory was wrong, he wasn't willing to risk Sara's safety or his own, especially when they had a better chance of survival if they could see where they were going.

"Will you be alright staying here tonight? We should wait 'till it's light."

"I guess so." She said lightly, almost jokingly. Through the darkness Misha could see her caste him a faint little smile that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. Sara rested her chin on her arm, and Misha thought she'd decided to sleep. But her eyes remained wide open and she gazed out into the darkness of the streets beyond.

"You should sleep." He said.

"I can't sleep."

"Try to sleep, Sara." Misha said gently as he gazed at her in the darkness. "I'll keep watch."

Once again, she failed to catch the hint of affection in his voice.

"It's fine, I'm not tired."

Silence fell over them once again. Misha decided not to argue with her, but resolved to stay awake just the same.

As the hours drifted by, Misha glanced at Sara once in a while. At one point he noticed her lips moving slightly, forming silent words that he couldn't hear.

"Are you ok?" He whispered softly.

There had been silence for so long that his voice startled her a little.

"Yeah." She said quietly.

"What are you doing?"

"Praying."

Misha hesitated a moment. How had it slipped his attention that Sara was religious? Everyone knew that Dr. Brandon was a religious man. Perhaps, with all the time she'd spent at the hospital, he'd converted her? Or perhaps it was simply the near-death experience they'd just had? Either way, it mattered little to him. Whatever made her happy.

"About anything in particular?"

She waited a few seconds before answering. "Arnold...Helga...you...all those kids. I don't know, just stuff."

"But not you?"

She looked over at him. "I don't know, I guess."

"Do you ever get an answer?"

She nodded. "It's not always the answer I want, but He usually answers."

"God?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh." Was all Misha could think to say. He wasn't quite sure what the politically correct response should be. He didn't really believe any of that God stuff personally, but he didn't want to say something stupid and insult her.

However, the thought that she prayed for him left him feeling a little stupefied. He needed prayer? Did that imply that he was going to die soon or something? And did her God really answer her prayers? It made him wonder what Sara prayed for, since nothing good seemed to be happening as of late.

Was that how it worked? If you prayed for a good thing, it would happen? That couldn't be true, though, because then everybody would pray and no bad things would ever happen.

Misha's brow furrowed and he pushed a few brown curls out of his eyes as he gazed up at the night sky. None of this had ever bothered him before, so why were all these questions running through his head now? Suddenly the things that made sense to him were replaced with questions that made him feel a little childish.

He turned toward Sara, opening his mouth to ask a question, but Sara's eyes were closed and she was fast asleep.

_Just as well_, Misha thought. He wasn't sure which question to start with anyway. He watched her as she slept, and reached with one hand to smooth back her stray hairs, but stopped. His hand hovered inches away from her face, and he found himself driven with a terrible urge to kiss her. Perhaps, if he did it quickly enough while she was asleep, she would never know.

_Just one...really quick..._

Almost as soon as the idea crossed his mind, however, Misha knew he couldn't dare for fear of waking her. If she woke up and saw him, how would he ever explain himself? Would his chances with her be blown completely out of the water if she got angry?

Very slowly, Misha drew his hand back.

_Someday_, he told himself, turning his eyes back toward the inky black sky.

Ernie clenched and un-clenched his beefy fists in order to ward off the urge to call out Arnolds name. They'd hit the streets at the very first sign of light and spread out among the city blocks surrounding the park. They had yet to find any sign of remaining survivors, and it was driving Ernie insane.

_How in the world are we supposed to find Arnie and those other kids if we can't call to 'em? It's not like they'll just be standing in the middle of the street. If they could do that much they'd have gone back to the tunnels by now..._

The stressed man leaned against a free standing wall and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease his headache. They'd been searching for hours, but it seemed to him like days. But he was determined to keep looking. He was not going to leave the surface without his boy.

"Sara?" Misha whispered, nudging her arm carefully. He hadn't expected his reply to be a pair of brown eyes snapping open and Sara's entire body jerking out of its sleeping position.

"Wha-" She started to say rather loudly, until Misha threw his hand over her mouth. It took only a second for her to remember where they were, and when he was sure she wouldn't be too loud, he removed his hand and pointed down the road. Sara looked, but saw nothing.

"Watch." He said.

After a few seconds someone emerged from a hiding place and sprinted silently across the road, disappearing once more.

Misha cocked his head in that direction and they crawled out of the rubble and into the open. They wasted no time jumping from spot to spot and simply hurried straight in the direction of the person they'd just seen.

Expecting him to have already moved to another location, they hadn't planned to find anyone when they rounded the corner. A sudden collide with something solid that resounded with an "oof" told them otherwise.

Misha reflexively reached out and caught Sara before she lost her balance, but the man she collided with was not so lucky and fell back hard against the vehicle he'd been hiding behind.

"James!" Sara breathed excitedly, relieved to see a familiar face.

"Sara! Where have you two been?" James said as he regained his balance with a hand from Misha. He was a firmly built Australian with sandy blonde hair and scruffy features. He usually had a grin on his face no matter what the situation, but at the moment only relief was present.

"We were hiding until this morning." Misha answered his question.

"Where's Arnold?"

"He didn't go back to the tunnels?" Sara asked.

"No, just Eric, Jack and Cody."

The three young people were silent for a moment as the severity of the situation sunk in. James had expected to find the three of them together. Sara and Misha expected Arnold to have made it back to the tunnels.

"We'd better get you back underground and have the doc take a look at your head."

James said then to Misha, regarding the long, deep gash on the side of his head where a patch of his unruly curls had been burnt off.

Sara couldn't believe such a wound had passed her attention before. Maybe because the cut was on his left side, and she'd been on his right all this time? "Misha! Why didn't you say something?"

"It doesn't hurt." He lied.

"Don't worry about that now. Come on." James said quietly, and together they made their way back to the tunnels.

A/N: Well, what do you think so far? If you're reading this, please review it and let me know, I'm starting to feel foolish for writing it because it seems like no one's interrested in reading it...but I'll keep writing anyway! It's what I do...:-)


	16. Pray Hard

Chapter 16: Pray Hard

With an account of Arnold's actions given by Sara Ivory, they now had a clue as to Arnold's whereabouts by which to go on, and they started their search all over again. Beginning at the park and fanning out in all directions, the search parties were given instructions to look for any signs of a motorcycle's presence. The remains of the shattered tires were located easily enough, but the sparks left by the tire rims were indiscernible among the black burn marks and debris that already littered the streets.

As a result, any joy they'd experienced in finding a hint of Arnold's whereabouts was quickly vanquished and the searchers trudged drearily on until darkness crept in and they were forced to return to the caves.

There was an eerie silence throughout the halls that night. Even the children seemed subdued, whether they knew exactly what was going on or not. A large handful of them hovered around Sara as she patched up Misha's head in the hospital. When she was finished, she led them all out into the hall and convinced them to sit in a circle and tell a Round Robin story together. Misha had wandered off, presumably back to his 'flat', as he called it.

Once Sara had gotten the kids wrapped up in their game, she returned to the hospital to see if Brandon needed any help. He immediately told her to go home, insisting that she needed sleep.

"I'm fine, really." Sara reasoned gently.

"Please, Sara, just go and get some rest. You staying here would only give me one more thing to worry about." He stated rather gruffly as he shuffled about the little area. His haggard expression and the way he carried himself was so unlike his normal demeanor that Sara was afraid to argue with him further. She stood debating for a moment before making up her mind to do as Brandon said.

Before she did, though, she stepped over to where he stood digging through a box of medicines and placed a hand on his arm. He looked over at her, a hint of concern in his dark face. "What's wrong?"

"Arnold is going to be ok." Sara said quietly.

At first, all the doctor could do was stare, a different assortment of emotions playing in his eyes.

"We don't know that." He said, his voice smaller and more strained than Sara had ever heard before.

"No, we don't. But God does."

An unexpected wave of bitterness struck the doctor, immobilizing him for a split-second with a touch of jealousy. In every other situation it was _his_ faith in God's control that had given him strength. His belief in that divine intervention was what had always gotten him through, the kind of assurance that Sara was showing now. But though he was in his thirties and she was barely in her twenties, he'd always seen her as a child. Not in the sense that she was immature, but vulnerable and even a bit sheltered. Now she stood before him with a greater faith than he in their mutual belief in a loving God. This made him feel weak, and almost angry.

As soon as the jealousy appeared, however, it was gone, replaced once again by the fear that had so shaken his faith in the first place. Fear of the unknown fate of the young man he'd come to love as a son. Brandon looked at Sara through eyes glazed over with worry and stress.

"I know." He said weakly. "Pray, Sara. Pray hard."

Standing outside the hospital doorway, Sara wasn't sure what she should do next. She knew that it would be in her best interest to return to the little bunk she shared with three other smaller girls to sleep, but she was hardly tired. After debating for what seemed like an hour, she finally decided to go home, even if she didn't sleep. But as she trudged down the quiet hall, the last person she expected, or wanted, to see came walking toward her.

Sara immediately felt the urge to flee in the opposite direction, but rallied both her courage and sense. Only in her dreams did she run from the things she feared or loathed, and perhaps it was the fear of those dreams that prevented her from sleeping, dreams revived by the reappearance of the very person who was approaching her now.

Maxwell Storm stopped just in front of her and an awkward pause followed. He fixed his gaze on the ground, his feet, anything but Sara who, on the other hand, stared straight at him with a boldness in her eyes that she didn't feel inside. She thought she detected something close to concern in his countenance, but refused to acknowledge it.

_Well..._She thought, quickly growing irritated by his silence. _He_ had approached _her_, after all.

"Did you want something?" Her own soft-spokenness surprised her. The words hadn't come out accusingly like she'd wanted.

They never did.

At last, Max looked up at her, his ebony eyes holding only the slightest hint of emotion. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

Sara had to fight to hold back a scornful scoff.

"I'm fine." She said in that same gentle voice. Her insides were doing back flips of anger, heartache, and though she'd never admit it even to God, affection. And she knew it was God alone giving her the ability to remain so calm on the outside.

"Ok." Max said.

In Sara's mind, that had just been his cue to walk away, but Max remained where he was standing. Sara waited as long as she could bear, then gave him a slight nod of her head and started on her way once more. She didn't look back, and he didn't follow her.

_I'll never understand him_, she thought angrily.


	17. Weitman Capaldo

A/N: Ok folks, this chapter is a little gruesome, so those of you with weak constitutions may not want to read. The only statement I will make in defense of the gritty details I lay out here is that I'm trying to portray the situation as realistically as possible.

Chapter 17: Weitman Capaldo

Weitman Capaldo wasn't an overly daring individual. His wife Evalyne could attest to his easy wit and jovial personality, but he was not the sort of man to go around trying to prove himself or gain anyone's favor. He'd led a very simple and contented life thus far, even in the caves, and nothing extra-fortunate or overly dramatic had ever crossed his path other than the first dragon attack.

So when the twenty-eight year old man stumbled upon a motorcycle with no tires and an alleyway completely charred and void of life, his first instinct was to look around for someone more important to inform. When he'd volunteered to help search for Arnold, the last thing he'd anticipated was to be the one who actually found something.

Weitman scanned the streets as far as he could see, and even ran to the next block in search of somebody to take over, but there was no one. He wasn't dumb enough to call out for help and, realizing that he was very much alone at the moment, he knew he'd better just go back and search the ally himself.

By the time he returned to the ally entrance, his mouth was dry and he wished there was somewhere he could get a drink. It wasn't that he was afraid, it was just that he was not a take-charge sort of man. Scratching his left shoulder as he often did when he was uncomfortable, Weitman entered the ally and began his search, though there wasn't much to 'search' anyway. The ally was occupied by two large dumpsters. The first turned up nothing, not even garbage. But the contents of the second sent Weitman's stomach jumping into his throat and he nearly fell backwards, coughing. Two seconds later he was back up and peering into the dumpster once more. The sight was enough to turn any man's stomach.

Arnold's body lay at the bottom of the dumpster covered with burns and missing a patch of hair on his head. His leg was bloody and twisted at a strange angle, and the flat of one hand was charred and torn up. Despite the burns and redness, Arnold's face was pale and marred like a soiled bed sheet.

Weitman turned and sank down into a sitting position with his back against the dumpster, dropping his face into his hands. What was he going to do now? He couldn't take the body back to the caves so that everyone, especially Ernie and all those kids, could see Arnold like this. But neither could he simply leave him here.

Once again, he considered going to find someone. He'd come a long way from the manhole; would he be able to remember where this ally was? He knew he had a terrible sense of direction, but his wife was usually there to help him with the map. The thought of Evalyne made his smile just a little, but only for a brief second.

_No_, he finally decided, _I'd better just take him with me_.

Carefully, Weitman crawled over the side of the dumpster and attempted to lift the limp body into his arms, but there was something holding it to the floor. Weitman shuddered to find that parts of Arnold's flesh had burned and stuck to the bottom of the dumpster. The damage stretched from his shoes, which were melted to the floor, all the way up to his head. His jeans and shirt had burned through where they came in contact with the floor and burned his skin up to his shoulder. But the worst part by far was Arnold's face. It appeared that the entire right side of his face had fused itself to the bottom of the dumpster.

Weitman groaned. His only consolation, cruel though it was, was that Arnold wasn't alive to feel what he was about to do. He hoped that if he pulled fast enough, like ripping off a band-aid, there would be no ill effects.

He was wrong.

The sound of flesh being torn from its birth spot was indescribably sickening, and blood trickled from the open wounds.

Infinitely more shocking than that sound, though, was the one that erupted from Arnold's mouth; a hoarse, deep-throated cry that was barely audible.

Weitman's heart completely stopped beating for a moment. Had he imagined that?

Arnold lay as still as he had a second ago, but Weitman would have sworn on his father's grave that there was now a tiny trace of color in Arnold's pale face.

"Hey?...Hey, kid?" Weitman shook his shoulder gently, but received no response.

Deciding not to waste another moment, he carefully hoisted Arnold up over one of his shoulders and proceeded to, somewhat clumsily, climb out of the dumpster.

The commotion could be heard all the way down the great hall to the hospital. Someone shouted for the doctor, and others were screaming at the horrible sight of the young man who'd helped lead them for so long.

Weitman Capaldo had fumbled his way down the ladder with Arnold in his arms just moments ago and had gladly given up his burden to another man shortly afterward. This man was hurrying in the direction of the hospital as people crowded around in joy as well as shock.  
Brandon met the man in the doorway and directed him to lay Arnold down on a bed. People were still crowding around, wanted to see and wondering out loud what had happened.

"Come on, guys, everyone out!" Hollered the man, Cody, as he shoved people toward the door. The doctor was assessing Arnold's wounds and said over his shoulder, "Get the children out of here!"

Sara and Jeri Freyermuth hustled the jabbering children out of the hospital, reassuring them that Arnold was going to be just fine. As they passed through the door, Brandon grabbed Sara's arm. "You stay," he said, "I'm going to need your help."

"Arnold? Aw, geez…" Ernie had just burst through the doorway, shoving people aside as he rushed over to Arnold's bedside. "What happened? Is he alive? Is he gonna be ok!"

"Ernie, please go outside…"

"Tell me, doc, what can I do! Ya gotta let me do something!"

Dr. Brandon turned to him. "Ernie, I know you want to help, but the best thing you can do for Arnold is leave him to Sara and I and keep everyone else out."

That certainly didn't seem to be what Ernie wanted to do to help, but Brandon was adamant. "Help Cody keep the peace out there. That's what I need the most right now."

Begrudgingly, Ernie nodded and went outside. There was still a great hum of excitement out in the hall, but once all was quiet again in the hospital, Brandon set to work. Sara assisted him in cleaning and bandaging the wounds with clean strips of cloth.

There hadn't been anyone yet that had suffered severe burns and lived to require treatment, so Brandon continually mumbled his thanks to God as he gently rubbed antibiotic ointment over Arnold's deeply cleaned wounds. Having no peroxide, they were forced to carefully, yet sufficiently, scrub the open wounds with warm wash clothes.  
Sara wasn't sure which would have hurt worse, the sting of peroxide or of having a rough rag running back and forth over an open sore.

"Don't tell Helga he's here." Brandon said suddenly. It was well into the evening now and they'd been working for so long in silence that Sara was startled by his voice and she looked up at him.

"Hasn't anyone told her?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way, at least for now."

Sara was confused by his statement. Helga slept rather soundly these days; it was very likely that she hadn't heard any of what had been going on. Still, Sara wasn't so sure that she agreed with the good doctor.

Doctor Brandon seemed to sense this. "She's doing rather well right now, and I don't want to spoil that. I'd rather that she not waste her energy worrying about Arnold." He turned from his work to look up at the young nurse, thankful that she seemed to understand his intentions. "We'll wait until we know he's out of danger."

In other words, just because Arnold had been _found_ alive didn't necessarily mean that he was going to _stay_ alive.

For a moment, Sara's body locked up and she found herself unable to move. All throughout the time Arnold had been missing, she somehow knew in her heart that he was still alive. But the reality of how very mortal he was finally began to sink in.

_Arnold could very well die_.

That's when Sara's thoughts and concerns turned to Helga. The girl had been nothing but an empty shell when she arrived. Arnold had put life back into her and he gave her a reason to live it. He was the only thing keeping her here, and if he died...

Sara shook her head and forced her hands to keep working. She didn't know what God had in store for these two people, but she knew she had to trust Him with their future.

She turned and coughed into the back of her hand.

"Are you alright?" Brandon asked as she rinsed her hand in the pot of hot water sitting nearby.

"Yeah, I think it's from being outside in all the smoke and stuff."

Brandon wasn't fully convinced, but he let it pass for now. When they were finally close to being done, Brandon suggested that Sara try to give him some water. She'd been running a wet cloth over his neck and forehead, but Brandon knew it wasn't nearly enough to get him hydrated again.

Sara took a fresh cup of water from a nearby nightstand (two cinder blocks stacked on top of each other) and sat down beside Arnold's limp form.

"Slowly now, just a few drops at a time." Brandon said.

The water slid down his throat with incredible ease. Sara held her breath to suppress another cough and hoped she could force it back down. Brandon didn't notice.

At that moment James walked through the doorway with Curly.

"Hey, Doc?" James said through his thick Australian accent. "Curly here was thinking about visiting Helga."

"She might not be awake, but you're welcome to go see," then Brandon said as an afterthought, "But please don't mention Arnold just yet, I don't want to worry her."

"Understood completely." Curly said with a nod.

James pointed him in the right direction, and when Curly went into the quarantined area, James turned back to Arnold's attendants. "Can I take over for someone?"

"Yeah, Sara could use a break."

"James, I don't think our good doctor has slept in days, you might want to escort him out."

"Sara-"

"You haven't left here since I got back, and you were probably here the whole time I was gone, too. You're our only doctor and you need the rest more than I do."

Brandon didn't appreciate being spoken to like a child, but there was no lie in his eyes. After all this time, Sara knew him far too well.

"Alright, kids, let's not argue." James said with a grin, "Doc, let's go. God created night for a good reason."

Brandon stood, fighting the urge to stretch his sore limbs after bending over Arnold for so long. "Alright, alright. I guess I can't fight both of you." And with a few last words of instruction, the doctor left the clinic.

After checking on Jack's leg and a few other people, the broad-shouldered Aussie returned to Arnold's bedside.

"You know, you look like you could use a bit of rest yourself."

"Why does everybody seem to think I need rest? I'm not an old woman or anything."

"Alright then, twenty minutes more and I'm kicking you out." James said with finality, as well as a perpetual little smile.

Before Sara could argue, James stood and made his way to the quarantined area to check on more patients.

Since there were not chairs to be sat upon, Curly carefully parked himself on the very edge of Helga's bed. Just as the doctor had predicted, the blonde invalid was sound asleep. Curly wasn't exactly sure why he'd come to see her other than to see how she was doing. He could recall having liked her quite a bit in his 'last life', as he called it.

Sitting before her now, watching her unsteady breathing, he could feel faint traces of those feelings returning, but he pushed them away.

_She's Arnold's girl now_, he told himself, _and that's how it ought to be. She deserves no less_.

Much like Brainy, the nerdy boy from grade school who used to follow Helga around, Curly had pretty much always known about Helga's feelings toward Arnold. The thought that it took this hell on earth to finally bring them together made Curly scoff out loud.

He literally slapped a hand over his mouth, cursing himself for making a noise, when Helga stirred and opened her eyes. The hazy blue orbs fell on Curly instantly and she gave him a very weak smirk.

"Hey, weirdo."

It had always been her nickname for him when they were friends. Not that it was singularly hers to bestow, since everyone had called him a weirdo back then. Once their friendship had developed, though, it went from being an accusation of his character to a simple nickname. It was something he'd quite enjoyed at the time, considering his crush on her, and he'd taken it as a sign that perhaps she'd moved on from Arnold and her nickname for him, 'Football head'.

Of course, his foolish heart had been mistaken, but he was ok with that now.

"Hey, yourself. Just thought I'd come see how you were doing."

Helga smiled again, but said nothing. As rarely as anyone saw a smile on her face before, it seemed the easiest way to respond to anything considering her current state.

"Do you need anything? I could get you a drink, I you want."

She nodded. In mere moments, Curly was gone and back again with a cup of water, which he helped her to sit up and drink.

"Wow," she said after settling back down on the cot, "who are you and what have you done with Curly?"

Her voice only emphasized her weak state, but the joke bode well and Curly couldn't help but smile. "Am I that different?"

She nodded.

"In a good way?"

"So far. You haven't been around long enough for me to see, but you probably still have an evil streak in you."

"And _you_ were _never_ evil." Curly said with a small laugh, and Helga smiled again.

"Remember when we stole Marty Anderson's jock strap and put it in his ex-girlfriends rear window?"

Now Helga had to laugh, regardless of how much it hurt. Of course she remembered that. Alyssa had been so incredibly ticked that she dumped him on the spot, and his ex-girlfriend was so embarrassed she didn't show up at school for a whole week!

"That was so great!" Helga said when her laughter had subsided, but then she began coughing violently, and Curly paled. He took her shoulder and helped her to roll over a little to make it easier to breath.

"I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot-" He was saying when her coughing ceased, but she waved his apology away.

"It's alright. It was worth it." She smiled again, and so did he, but then her smile faded.

"Curly, have you seen Arnold lately? He hasn't been to see me for an awful long time."

Recalling the doctors instructions, Curly chose his words carefully, trying not to sound suspicious at all.

"Uh...I think he came to see you a couple times these past few days, but you were sleeping. You've been sleeping quite a lot lately, you know."

"Oh...do you know where he is now?"

Curly knew that if he didn't make his answer good, she would probably ask him to go get Arnold or something.

"Yeah, I think he's sleeping right now. He's been helping Ernie with some construction stuff lately, so he's been resting whenever he can."

"Oh, ok. Tell him to come see me when he gets a chance."

She looked so hopeful. It broke Curly's heart to have to lie to her. "Sure Helga."


	18. Max Get's His

Chapter 18: Max Get's His and Arnold Wakes Up

Days passed. Though his injuries were slowly healing, Arnold still had yet to regain consciousness. Mrs. Freyermuth made soup for him every day which was fed to him in achingly small amounts. Brandon and Sara hovered around the hospital almost ceaselessly, and James and Misha often had to force them to go home and sleep.

Sara put one hand on the cavern wall and placed the other over her mouth, forcing the cough back as best she could. By now she knew that she was sick, but she refused to let it overtake her.

"Hi."

She didn't need to turn in order to see who the voice belonged to.

"Hi." She said flatly, straightening up and continuing on her way as though her greeting had also been a farewell. If Maxwell had caught the hint, he didn't act accordingly.

"Are you ok?" He asked, following her.

"Fine." She answered without looking at him. They walked in silence for a while before Sara spoke again. "Is there something specific you want, Max, or are you just trying to make my life more difficult?"

At that, Max gave a frustrated sigh, the ice of awkwardness broken to reveal a more accurate portrayal of reality.

"I'm _trying_ here, Sara, you could make it a little easier."

"I don't see that happening."

"Sara-"

"Please just leave me alone."

"I want to fix this-"

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "You want to ease your conscience!"

Sara read the look on his face as a sign that she was right. And if she was wrong...she was far too exhausted to deal with him right then.

"Just go away, Max." She said as she started walking away again.

She didn't make it three steps before the hallway swayed and everything went black.

When Sara awoke, the first thing she saw was James' concerned face.

"There you are. How do you feel?"

"I...don't know. What happened?"

"You passed out in the hallway and hit your head, got quite a nasty little nick there, too. That Storm fella' carried you back here."

"Max? Ugh..." Sara closed her eyes tightly and moaned. The faint pain in her forehead increased at the notion of being bodily carried by the one person she currently loathed the most.

"Is he still here?" She asked quietly, obviously hoping the answer would be no.

"Yeah, he's over there coddling his broken nose." James said, motioning over his shoulder. Sara looked. Max was sitting on a bed holding a cloth to his bruised, bleeding nose. Thankfully, he hadn't yet noticed that she was awake.

"Broken?" She inquired quietly, wondering if perhaps she'd hit him and couldn't remember.

"Yeah, Misha knocked him one not long after he brought you here. Guess he thought Max was upsetting you or something and that's why you passed out."

"Misha..._hit__him_?" Sara had never known Misha to be a violent person even in the slightest way.

"Yeah, and he got hit back. He's over there."

Sara looked again. Misha was leaning against the wall with a badly swollen cheek and eye. Like Max, he too was unaware that she was awake.

"They're both well enough to leave."

Catching the strange note in the Aussie's voice, Sara looked back at him. His expression held seriousness to it as well as a hint of amusement.

"I think they're both waiting for you."

Sara was silent for a long moment before she finally spoke again. "Tell them both to leave. I don't want to see either of them."

Her words obviously surprised James, but he nodded and almost immediately rose to tell them. Sara turned and lay on her side so that they could not see her face if they looked her way, which they were sure to do. A moment later, Sara felt a weight pushing the cot down on one side and turned over to see that James had returned to his original spot. He held a cup of water to her, and she sat up and took it. Both of the aforementioned young men were gone.

Much to his credit, James didn't say anything regarding what had just transpired, so neither did Sara. She wasn't even sure that _she_ knew what was going on, only that she did not appreciate two men throwing punches as a means of impressing her, if that was the case.

"Where's Brandon?" She asked instead.

"At home sleeping."

"Good, he needs rest. How are the kids doing?" She asked as she started climbing out of the bed.

"Their fine. Where do you think you're going?" James put his hands on both her shoulders to keep her from getting up.

"Home to rest so I can get back to work."

"I don't think so. You're staying right here until Brandon can take a look at you."

"James, I'm fine. Really. I passed out from exhaustion is all." Even in her own ears it sounded like she was lying. Perhaps it was just hopeful thinking?

"I think we'll let the Doc decide that. Until then, you're not to leave this bed."

Silence.

He had just become aware of the utter silence that surrounded him. He could feel the presence of many different moving things, perhaps people, but all were perfectly soundless to his ears. What had happened?

_Why are they all being so quiet?_ He thought. He had to know what was going on or it would drive him nuts.

Arnold tried to open his eyes, but it proved to be a more difficult task than he'd expected. He was shocked not only by how weak he felt, but also how painful the effort was. This only made him more determined, however, and he poured what little strength he had into getting his eyes open. His lids slowly slid upward and the first thing he noticed was how bright and foggy the world appeared to be.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was staring at the ceiling of the tunnels: the gray, grimy stone being much lighter in color than he knew it ought to be.

_That's not important_, he told himself as he set about the task of moving his aching eyes down the length of the wall, then to the row of hospital beds lining the adjacent wall.

_The hospital...ok..._After a moment of contemplation, Arnold deduced that he'd fallen asleep on Helga's bed again.

When he pushed his eyes further down, though, and saw his legs stretched out in front of him under a blanket, he knew that he couldn't possibly be on Helga's bed.

_Unless..._ A tiny wave of excitement shimmied up his spine. _Helga's better! She's ok!_

Two seconds later the excitement was replaced with dread as the other possibility drifted to his mind. _Unless she..._

The surge of fear that jolted his body gave him a small burst of strength, and his eyes were suddenly moving about frantically. He wished he had enough strength to move. He could see James Weston across the room talking to another man...what was his name? Carl...Cody...yeah, Cody. Three of the beds he could see were occupied with patients and someone was puking into a bucket.

_Where are all the consumption patients?_

When his eyes shifted to the far left, he would have jumped in surprise, had he the energy to do so. There Dr. Brandon knelt beside the bed, his forehead pressed against his interlaced fingers in prayer.

Arnold's jaw twitched and arched as he forced it into motion. He opened his mouth and felt the muscles in his throat working to create speech, but no sound came out. Baffled, Arnold lay silent for a moment. When he tried again, a sharp pain pierced his throat, and all he had to show for his trouble was a scratchy, hissing sound.

Brandon's head snapped up and he stared at the blonde boy with wide, bloodshot eyes. Arnold was almost shocked by the doctors haggard appearance, but he didn't let it show.

"Thank You, Lord," Brandon breathed as he scooted closer to the head of the cot.

"Hey, son." He said out loud, his smile warm and filled with more relief than Arnold had ever seen. He was also very aware that the doctor had called him son, though he wasn't sure why this fact stood out to him. He didn't mind, though.

He tried to speak again, but Brandon immediately hushed him. "No, don't try to speak." Arnold glanced around and spotted a piece of paper and pencil nearby. Intending to point to them, Arnold was pleasantly surprised by how much easier it was to move his arms now than it had been to move his eyes a moment ago. He pulled his left arms out from underneath the blanket only to find his left hand completely bandaged. He looked at Brandon with a very concerned expression.

"It's alright," The doctor said quickly, "You, uh, burned your hand a little bit. It's healing very well." He said the last part a little too optimistically, and Arnold's worry wasn't eased in the slightest. He gave Brandon what could have been considered a dirty look, and the doctor sighed. He should have known better than to try and sugar-coat anything for Arnold.

"It's healing." He said simply, which was the truth. How well it would heal, and how usable that hand would be, he just had no way of knowing yet. At least Arnold was right handed.

Arnold had to pause a moment and try to recall exactly how he'd burned his hand. So many things were crowding his mind at the moment that it was hard to think clearly about any one particular thing. But Helga remained at the forefront of his mind, and that was the one thing he wished to know about first before anything else. But how? How could he ask any questions when he couldn't speak or write?

"What is it, son? Can you point?" Brandon asked.

No, he couldn't point! How could he point when he couldn't see her!

Brandon's expression began to mirror the panic in Arnold's. He felt so completely helpless. Arnold tried to mouth Helga's name, and Brandon looked closely. It took a moment, but he finally understood.

"Helga? Oh, she's fine, Arnold. Just fine. All the consumption patients are behind that curtain, remember?"

No, he couldn't remember. Not now, anyway. But Helga was safe, and at least that burden had been lifted from his mind.

But why couldn't he remember anything? What had happened to him? He remembered hiding under a bus with Sara, and he remembered running across the grass to get to that bus. He recalled riding a motorcycle and swatting flames off of his arm, but that was all. He raked his brain for more memory, and the effort almost began to hurt his tired mind.

"Don't think now. Everything's healing fine and there's nothing to worry about." If there was one thing Brandon knew that they didn't spend enough time teaching in medical school, it was that stress and worry demoted the healing process. With the lack of medicines available, he needed to support all the natural healing methods there were.

Arnold's concerned expression didn't waver, though.

"Arnold, please try not to worry about anything right now. You need to regain your strength."

Arnold sunk back onto the thin pillow dejectedly. With only a small bit of a memory, he had too many questions to ask and no way to ask them. What was wrong with his voice? When would he be able to speak again? Was Sara ok? And Misha...he was stuck in a hole, right? Was he ok?

Dr. Brandon was saying something reassuring to him as he closed his eyes, but he wasn't listening. He mind was running faster than his body ever had managed to, and this made him tired. He was faintly aware that Brandon departed before he drifted off to sleep once more.


	19. Knowing How Hard it Hurts When We Fall

Chapter 19: Knowing How Hard it Hurts When we Fall

_Only a few days after being in the hospital, I regained full memory of all that had happened. I spent the next three weeks lying on that lumpy cot, unable to even feed myself let alone go see Helga. Gerald often kept me company, bringing his daughter with him in order to cheer me up, which worked occasionally. Sometimes he'd leave her with me and go see Helga. They'd obviously settled their differences and now they get along quite well, from what Gerald tells me. Helga knows about the whole incident with the dragon, and that I hurt my leg and hands, but that's about it. I agree with Dr. Brandon MacNamara that it would be best not to give her the full details just yet. It's been difficult enough for me to deal with, and I'm not the one that'ssick with consumption. _

**Arnold brought his right hand across the book and let it rest upon his crippled left hand. Then he glanced over at the nearby mirror and studied the deep scarring all over one side of his face. They were all marks that he'd long since grown accustomed to. **

**The scarring depicted what had happened perfectly, as though someone had pressed a sheet of hit iron against his face. Thankfully there'd been no damage to his eye, but his ear was now quite mangled. It didn't effect his hearing too much, but it was an unpleasant sight none the less. His hair, which hung quite shaggy and not straight up like it once had, was doing an excellent job hiding the ear, as well as that part of his temple that was scarred where a patch of hair would never again grow. **

**Truthfully, no one seemed to notice his abnormal features anymore. It hadn't ever really phased any of the children much; they were too curious to be afraid. It was the adults, and the unending pity he received, that had taken some time to fade away. **

**Arnold smiled to himself when he recalled Helga's reaction. It had been weeks and, though Arnold was dying to see Helga, he'd dreaded the thought of her seeing him in his current state. Though the burns had been healing, they'd been far more deep and ugly than they were at present, and he'd dreaded Helga's reaction to the sight of him. **

**Helga, meanwhile, had been steadily growing irritated with the excuses and half-explanations for why Arnold couldn't come see her, and she was becoming convinced that he was dead and no one would tell her the truth. **

"Arnold, man, you have to go see her. She's startin' to freak out!" Gerald was saying as he switched Lupita's position on his arms. He and Curly were both sitting by Arnold's bed.

"No, I can't." Arnold insisted.

"You have to, Arnold! She's starting to think you're dead and we're all lying to her!" Curly said.

"Not yet. Not until I heal more." Arnold said, shaking his head. "She can't see me like this."

"Arnold," Gerald started, his tone very serious, "do you really think it will matter to her?"

Arnold didn't answer. Truthfully, he wasn't sure.

"She loves you, man! And she'll keep on lovin' you no matter what you look like."

Arnold wasn't sure why, but when Gerald said that Helga loved him, his heart skipped just slightly and he had to fight to keep from beaming proudly. After a long moment of still fretting, he finally consented. Both his friends seemed to sag with relief.

Wearing only a pair of worn shorts, Arnold reached for the T-shirt laying folded on the floor next to his bed. He reached with his right hand, the only one well enough to be used, and knew almost instantly that he'd never be able to get the shirt on by himself.

Before he could ask for help, though, Curly was at his side offering a set of able hands to pull the shirt over his head.

Feeling satisfied with that, Arnold then glanced down at his pale, thin legs and found that the dirty cast on one and the deep scar on the other were not too appealing.

"Are there some long pants I can borrow?"

Gerald gave him a dirty look. "You're stalling."

"I am _not_ stalling!" Arnold exclaimed angrily with a pound of his fist, an outburst that surprised both his friends and startled Lupita. He saw the little girl squirm and calmed himself slightly before speaking again. "My face is bad enough. Can you blame me for wanting to hide as much as I can?"

His face was so angry and pitiful that Gerald instantly regretted being cross with him. He was just about to apologize when a light, breathless voice caught them all of-guard.

"Arnold?"

Helga was leaning on the edge of a cot just outside the doorway to the quarantined area, looking rather shocked.

"Helga! Why are you out of bed?" Curly was saying as he leapt up to help her, but she hardly noticed him when he took her arm to help her stand.

Arnold was sure it was his marred face that rendered her so speechless, and his good hand went up reflexively to try and cover it.

With Curly's help, Helga hurried rather unsteadily to Arnold's bedside. Gerald had already vacated his spot for her, and she never took her eyes off of Arnold as she sat down.

Every fiber in Arnold's body told him to turn his face away so that she couldn't see it, but after so many weeks his eyes hungered for the sight of her face, the sound of her voice, and the deep sky blue of her eyes.

Helga reached to move his hand away from his face, and suddenly the spell was broken. He instantly pulled away from her touch.  
Helga thought to ask what had happened, but she already knew. She was compelled to glare at the two young men standing nearby for not telling her the whole truth about what happened, but she'd deal with them later.

When Arnold pulled away at her second attempt, she grabbed his head in both hands and forced his face to turn toward hers. This time he didn't pull away, and the expression that greeted Helga was one of hopeless submission. Her eyes seemed to be studying his newly formed face, and Arnold waited with a tight pain in his chest for her gentle rejection to come.

It never did.

What came were her warm hands upon his face and a pair of very gentle lips pressing against his. That kiss slowly melted away all his fears of her rejection, and his body relaxed entirely beneath the warmth of her touch.

"I love you, Arnold." She said quietly when they'd parted, her breath soft against his face. Her words spoke of so much more than her love, though. They spoke of her acceptance of him, just as he was. Gerald had been right.

"Thank you."


	20. Decisions and Details

A/N: It has come to my attention that my invented characters (Dr. Brandon, Sara, Misha...etc) are throwing people off a bit because they are not well known. So on the advice of my reader(s), I'm going to add a couple short biographies of the people not originally on the HA show. I'd also like to apolegize as well as smack myself upside the head for not doing this earlier, it probably would have worked wonders if I'd added a short bio. to whatever chapter that included that character the most. Oh well, you live and learn. That's the main point of this website, right?

In Order of Appearance:

Name: Eric Moore

Age: 20

Appearance: Short sandy-blonde hair, blue eyes, 5'11", average-firm build.

Eric is a very take-charge individual. He is strong of mind and body and is never afraid to tell people what he thinks. He grew up in the city and was earning an Engineering degree at the local college. His parents and younger sister lived in New Jersey.

Name: Dr. Brandon MacNamara 

Age: 32

Appearance: Short dark-chocolate brown hair, dark brown eyes, 5'10", average build.

Dr. Brandon is the only doctor in the tunnel community. He is a strong Christian and allows it to show through his positive attitude and ever-hopeful demeanor. He never tires of serving the people under his care, or even those that are not, and he usually has to be forced to leave the hospital and take a break. He is not an unbreakable man, but he draws his strength from his belief in a loving God that never steers him wrong.

Name: Jeri Freyermuth

Age: 46

Appearance: Black hair streaked with gray, light brown eyes, 5'9", average build for age.

Jeri is a kind-hearted woman who loves to help in any way she can, regardless of her age or the minor aches and pains that come with it. Formerly the mother of nine children, most of which were lost along with her husband in the first dragon attack, her remaining children are grown and fending for themselves in the tunnels. This leaves Jeri more than willing to devote her time to the needs of others.

Name: Misha Nicolia Parson

Age: 18

Appearance: Unruly light-brown/orange curls a couple inches long, green/hazel-flecked eyes, 6'3", lanky but strong.

Misha is a cool, confident sort of person with a knack for creativity. He is not easily stressed by much, but he knows when the right time is for joking around or being serious. He is often working alongside Eric or Arnold, always willing to help, and is good at keeping his head on in tight situations.

Name: Sara Jane Ivory

Age: 18

Appearance: Wavy light-brown, shoulder length hair, chocolate-brown eyes, 5'11", strong build, yet somewhat delicate.

Sara Ivory is Dr. Brandon's most trustworthy assistant. Not trained in any way to be a nurse, all her medical knowledge comes from past experience and from the doctor. Little is known about her past other than a couple once-favored tv shows and a mother that used to sew. Sara is a positive, energetic young woman with a servants heart, but it is a heart that is also heavily guarded. She shares Dr. Brandon's belief in God and, like the doctor, is not afraid to let her faith guide her attitude. But also like the doctor, Sara is far from perfect and seems to be hiding a hurt past.

Name: Maxwell Storm

Age: 19

Appearance: Long, jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail, ebony eyes, 6'2", lanky and pale.

Max is a man with a foreboding rebellious streak in him. He has a tendancy to puch people away with his negative outlook and spiteful personality, and comes across to most people as if he knows everything. He just barely respects authorities placed over him and seems to have an obsession with weapons and killing (dragons, that is). Little is known about him except that he was also attending the local college in an attempt to earn a degree in graphic design, specifically computer games designing, and that he came from a somewhat disfunctional family.

Name: James Anthony Weston

Age: 24

Appearance: Buzzed sandy-blonde hair, light brown eyes, 5'11", somewhat muscular build.

James is a native Australian who was visiting a friend in the city. Like Misha, he has an inventive streak in him and is a real thinker. Though very capable of leading people, he is extremely humble and willing to come under authority. Contrary to his appearance, he has a soft heart and a willingness to make sacrifices for others.

Chapter 20: The Decisions and the Details

"We can't stay here anymore, it's too dangerous and people are dying left and rightfrom this disease!"

"Where are we gonna go? The whole country's plagued-"

"Whole world-"

"By dragons! There's just nowhere to go."

"What does that matter? Where we are isn't even safe-"

"If we find a place in the country, we'll at least have a chance against this consumption."

"How are we supposed to move all these people? There have to be at least fifty..."

"The sick would have to be carried-"

"We wouldn't even make it out of the city!"

"This is ridiculous-"

"We could send a team out first."

"Send them where?"

"We don't _know_ yet, that's the point! We'll send a team to find a safe place in the country, then we'll evacuate people in small groups."

"I still think it's a bad idea-"

"We can't just sit around here and let people die slowly."

"We could be taking a great risk here..."

Arnold had managed to remain silent throughout the entire debate that was being carried on by the small group of men, and Brandon had said very little, if anything, until that moment.

"There's going to be a great amount of risk in everything we do; there's no danger-free path we can take anymore." There was a pause in the conversation, and the doctor turned to Arnold. "What do you think, Arnold?"

Arnold's sea-green eyes studied his hands for a moment, his right hand almost perfectly normal and his left hand marred forever. His thoughts were, as they usually were these days, trained mostly on Helga and what would be in her best interest.

"I think Ernie's right. We need to get out of these tunnels and into cleaner air."

Of course, Arnold's words made no solid decision, but after a long debate and an even longer session of detail-working, it was decided that a group would leave within the week to find a new place to live.

Word spread that volunteers were needed, and the next night everybody gathered in the Main Hall. The crowd hummed with a mixture of emotions. When nobody spoke right away, Arnold realized that everyone was waiting for him. He looked around and suddenly found himself uncomfortable being the center of attention. He looked at the doctor standing to his left, and Brandon immediately picked up on the younger man's discomfort. He took a small step foreword and cleared his throat before he began speaking.

"I'm sure by now most of you know what sort of predicament we're in. But for those of you who don't, I'll try to put it as simply as I can. We're dying here."

There was a soft murmuring among the crowd. Some people agreed, while others bore an expression of confusion.

"Even though the drainage water is running relatively clean and our waste is getting dumped a great distance from our living area, people are getting sick from the darkness and dampness of these tunnels. It isn't half as clean or healthy here as we like to think it is. Though we're doing our best, it just isn't good enough anymore, and it's not just the children who are being effected. You all know that most of those in the hospital aren't just there for headaches anymore."

With each sentence the people had grown more uneasy. Obviously most of them hadn't known how grave the situation was.

"What are we going to do?" Someone asked.

At a glance from the doctor, Eric Moore stepped foreword. "We're going to leave."

A gentle roar erupted as incredulous people agreed and disagreed amongst one another.

"Everyone, please! We don't have time for this. We've already looked at every other option and considered every risk. Yes, there's danger involved. We live in a world infested with dragons, so this was not an easy choice to make." Ernie said.

Eric scanned the numerous faces before him. "If we stay here," he said, "We will all die."

The Hall seemed very silent for a moment. Now that the full weight of the situation had sunk in, Eric moved to the next, and most important, subject.

"We're going to send a group out to find a place for us all to live somewhere in the country. Clean air is the best cure for consumption and we're not going to find any of that here in the city. We need volunteers to be part of this group. So far we have Arnold, James Weston and myself, but we'd like to have at least ten."

A few people raised their hands immediately and stepped toward the front. Others were not so eager, but eventually there was a decent amount of people willing to go. Arnold immediately noted that Gerald was among the volunteers, and this disturbed him. He decided it would be best to voice his concern later when they didn't have the attention of over half the community.

"Now the odds of complete success, as well as survival, are not in our favor," Brandon had noticed Gerald, too, and was looking directly at him as he spoke to the whole crowd, "If you have people here who count on you, no one will blame you for not volunteering." Arnold noticed that Brandon was also focusing intently on the man standing next to Gerald, but he didn't know who he was.

The other man was Weitman Capaldo, and standing on his other side was a small woman whose hand was held tightly in his.

"However," the doctor continued, "I thank God for each one of you who is willing to give of yourselves for the sake of all these people. Now we need to go over plans for the trip. Those who aren't going are more than welcome to stay and listen in, but you don't have to."

A few people did stay to hear the full plan, but the rest walked away to discuss the situation amongst themselves. The volunteers gathered around in a circle and Eric spread out a series of maps over the space in the center. As he pointed out the route theywould take to get out of the city, Arnold leaned over to Gerald and spoke very low, "You don't have to come, Gerald."

"You're right, Arnold, I don't have to. I _want_ to."

"But why?"

"Someone's got to look out for you."

"What about 'Pita? Who's going to look out for _her_?"

"Someone who will do a better job at it than I can right now. Trust me on this, man."

Arnold straightened, still unhappy about his friends choice. Gerald leaned toward him and added: "Besides, you can't save the neighborhood without me. That would be entirely un-cool." For a moment, that old home-boy crept back into Gerald's voice, and Arnold had to smile. Having Gerald there would definitely make the trip a little more pleasant, especially considering the company they'd undoubtedly be dealing with.

"Aren't we going to have some sort of weapons of defense?" Maxwell Storm was saying, his tone reflecting the fact that 'no' would be an unacceptable answer. Arnold had to keep himself from grimacing at the prospect of having the man along, but they couldn't very well turn him away, could they? He hadn't actually done anything irrefutable.

"What sort of weapons do you think we have?" Ernie asked.

Max seemed as though he were trying to keep his patience. "I know you don't have any materials here to make bombs or anything, but if we could find more-"

"It's a logical idea, Max, but it's just not practical. If you happen to find your materials on the way, that's fine, but we just don't have time now. We have to be on our way by tomorrow morning at the latest.

"How much should we pack?" This question came from Curly who, thankfully, knew that changing the subject would draw attention away from Max and, therefore, close the topic of discussion.

"As far as that goes, it's pretty much every man for himself. Carry as much as you can but not so much that you'll tire quickly. Remember that we'll be walking for entire days at a time. I you don't have some sort of traveling bag, we can probably find you one. I'm sure people will be willing to lend them."

"Lots of water," the doctor interjected, "and no parishable foods if you can manage it."

"I don't think we've got any perishables left anyway, just cans." Eric said.

"Perfect. If you're not sure what foods would be best, I'll be at the supply cove later to divvy up some rations and stuff. We need to make sure we have plenty with us, but we also need to be sure and leave lots of the healthy stuff for the people here." Misha said.

The preparations took well over an hour, and everybody was instructed to be packed and ready to go by that night, saying their private goodbyes before going to sleep. They planned to leave around five a.m. the next morning, and the few who still had working watches nominated themselves to wake everybody else.

Being late in the afternoon already, they weren't given much time for lagging.


	21. If You Throw me a Line

Chapter 21: If You Throw Me a Line…

"Helga?" Arnold said quietly, kneeling by the head of her cot. Feeling the certain doom that he was walking into by embarking on this trip, Arnold felt a little more couragous than normal, and he was almost glad she didn't wake up right away. It opened the door for what he was about to do next.

Carefully, he pressed his lips to hers and let them linger there for a moment, leaning back just as she began to stir. When her bleary eyes opened and locked with Arnold's, she smiled.

"Hey, Football-head."

He grinned down at her. "Hi."

"How do you feel?"

"I should be asking you that."

"Too bad, I beat you to it." She said jokingly. Then she touched his burned arm lightly, the mood shifting somewhat.

"It's healing alright." He said quietly as he carefully placed his hand over hers. Chemistry vibrated between them though only light words were spoken. Arnold loved it.

"Does itstill hurt?"

"Yeah, a little."

Arnold couldn't understand the sudden adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was driven with an incredible urge to draw her entire being into his arms, to kiss her, hold her tightly and never let her go. His hand went to her thin, soft cheek.

Helga had never seen his eyes shine as clearly as they were at that moment with such an unreadable mixture of emotions.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

Wrong?Was something wrong? Arnold was so busy studying every little detail of the pale face before him that for a moment he forgot everything else.

But he quickly snapped back.

_What's wrong? Everything! Everything's wrong! _

He needed to stay here, to be near her and know that she was within his reach. But for that same reason he knew he had to go. He had to save her, and this was the only way. He would gladly part with her for a couple weeks, if it took that long, in order to have her by his side for all the time after.

"We...a bunch of us came to a decision this morning." He started slowly. "The community needs to be moved to the country because of the consumption. A group is going to find a place to livebefore we can more everybody. They...they're leaving before dawn tomorrow..."

"And you're going with them." It was a statement, not a question, for the expression on her face had already turned to that of grief.

"I have to, Helga-"

"But why? _Why_ do you always _have to_?" She exclaimed almost vehemently as she struggled into a sitting position. "You don't _have_ to fix everything, Arnold!

"I don't want to fix _everything_!" He said, taking hold of both her shoulders. "Just you."

"But you can't fix me, Arnold. You think I never read old books? I know what consumption does to people. I'm just not gonna make it-"

"Yes you are, don't say that!" Arnold said, desperation lacing his voice. "I'm gonna save you, Helga!"

"You already have, Arnold." She said quietly. Though his distress didn't decrease, he could feel his heart melting in his chest by her simple words. He pulled her to him and held her tightly against himself, and in that moment he knew he never wanted to be separated from her again.

"Marry me."

She pulled away and looked at him intently, and in an instant there were tears forming in her eyes. "Really?"

He smiled despite himself. "Really."

This time it was she who launched herself into his arms and held on for dear life. Arnold never wanted to leave that spot, but after a very long moment he pulled back.

"I'll be back." He said. And with that, he hurried from the clinic in search of Dr. Brandon, his face flushed with excitement.

_Within the next hour, Helga and I were married. Since Dr. Brandon is the closest thing we have to a minister, he performed the small ceremony right in the hospital. My good friend Gerald gave us his wedding bands to use, making it more legal. _

"Gerald, I can't accept these." Arnold said, refusing to open his hand to take the two rings Gerald was holding out to him.

"You have to, man. I want you to have them." Gerald said, balancing Lupita on his hip.

"But don't you want them? That's Phoebe's ring."

Gerald looked down at the rings, then at the baby in his arm.

"I know, but you guys need them more than I do. Phoebe would want you guys to have them, and I know it will mean a lot to Helga." He practically pushed the rings into his friends hands, and Arnold reluctantly took them.

"Besides," Gerald continued, shifting the baby to his other arm and holding her close, "I've got all of Phoebe I need right here." He grinned at his daughter playfully, and Lupita cooed and snuggled up to her father.

Arnold had to smile. "Thanks, Gerald."

"Yeah, yeah. Now get outta here." Gerald said, shooing him away. Arnold smiled wider and hurried off, and Gerald smiled after him. Then, when Arnold was out of sight, his smile faded and he sighed. Turning slowly and relishing the feeling of his daughters warmth against his shoulder, Gerald made his way down the hall toward a certain alcove.

Arnold hadn't noticed, but Gerald had a small bundle tied up and slung over his shoulder containing a few teething toys, one change of clothes and a couple small blankets. When he reached the alcove, a woman greeted him.

"Are you certain this is what you want?" Jeri Freyermuth asked as he handed her the bundle.

"Positive." He hugged his baby close for a long time, whispering softly to her.

"I love you, baby-girl..."

After that, he handed her over to Jeri's waiting, and very experienced, arms.

"I'll take good care of her, Gerald."

"I know you will. Thank you, Jeri."

The older woman embraced him briefly before he turned and walked away. He'd given this a lot of thought. Of all the people he could trust to care for his child, Mrs. Freyermuth topped them all. She'd birthed nine children and had had the chance to fully raise almost all of them. Now with half of her family gone and the rest fully grown, she had so much extra love to give. Love that she'd been cheated out of giving to the small children she'd lost.

Gerald knew he was doing the right thing. He knew he was leaving Lupita in the most capable and loving hands available. He knew that Jeri could give his daughter so much that he could not.

But it didn't make him any less lonely for his little girl.

Maxwell Storm stood before the hospital door, silently peering inside. Sara was sitting on the edge of her bed, helping a little boy put his pants on and teaching him to tie the drawstrings. There didn't seem to be as many people in the hospital as the doctor had claimed there were, but he knew that most of them were behind the quarantined curtain, which appeared to have been moved further foreword. Max knew that Sara was sick, and wondered why she wasn't behind the curtain as well.

Once the little boy thanked her and skipped away, Sara rose and walked across the room to a small pile of tattered clothes. As she rummaged through it, Max finally decided to approach her.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

Sara jumped a little and looked up at him, but turned immediately back to her work. She pulled out a couple shirts and walked back to her cot. Max followed her.

"I'm serious, you'll just get worse if you don't rest."

"For me, this is resting." She said as she sat cross-legged on her bed and spread the garments out before her. There was already a pair of scissors, a needle, and some thread nearby, and she began threading the needle.

Max sat down on the bedside, and Sara looked up at him with a somewhat defeated expression. "Max, why are you doing this? I don't want to talk to you."

"I want to fix this, Sara. Please, I need you to forgive me."

"But you're not sorry!"

"I _know_ that!" He burst out suddenly. "I'm _not_ sorry that I tried to kill a dragon and ease our survival a little! I'm _not_ sorry Jeremy died, because that's what he wanted!" He seemed to be trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked angrily.

"I mean he _wanted_ to die. He ran out there first and got himself killed-"

Sara was enraged. How could he stand there and say that, and all to excuse the fact that he screwed up, _again_! "I don't believe you...you're lying!"

"-He told me all the time that he preferred death to all this sh-"

"Shut up! Get out! Get out now, you're lying!" She tried to shove him, but he grabbed her arms.

"Why do you think I'm lying? He was _my _friend, too!"

"Bastard! Selfish, selfish bastard-" She tried to hit him, but he held her firmly.

Somewhere beyond the quarantined area, a child was crying.

"Let me go!"

"Sara, stop it! You have to listen to me!"

"No! I don't want to hear anymore! Get away from me, you slimy, selfish-"

Now she was trying to pul away, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Please, Sara, please! I need you to help me! I didn't mean for those people to die, they weren't supposed to die!"

Sara's struggling lessoned some, but not entirely. There seemed to be a different look to this mercenary's eyes than there had been a moment ago.

"It was an accident. He...he fired too soon and just...took off...he wouldn't tell me why...please, Sara, you have to believe me." He gripped her arms desperately. "I never meant for him to die...he was my _best friend_, and I couldn't...I couldn't stop him..."

Part of Sara wanted to believe him; wanted to trust him. It was the young, vulnerable girl from years ago who longed to have her best friend, her first love, back in her arms.

But that memory was too faint now, the desire to re-live the past vanquished with time and pain. As she'd told Arnold, she didn't know who this man was anymore. He'd broken her heart in the past too man times to count, and that was how many times she'd forgiven him and let him back into her life.

Never again.

"Max, stop." She said quietly.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Stop! Please...just stop."

"Forgive me, Sara, please! I need your forgiveness! I need you to understand!" He was still gripping her arms, and she considered for a moment before she spoke. Her voice was cold even to her own ears.

"I forgive you...for what happened to Jeremy...and all those people."

There was a hope in his eyes that was slowly dying, as though he hoped she would forgive him of so much more. His eyes spoke volumes to her. "That's all?"

"That's all." Sara said with finality.

Reluctantly, as if just then realizing that he was holding onto her, he loosened his grip and she pulled her arms back. He stood as if to leave but lingered a moment, looking very dejected. His eyes remained focused on the floor as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sara-" He started quietly, but Sara interrupted.

"I know-"

"No, I'm...I'm sorry...that I hurt you." His voice was so quiet that Sara almost didn't hear him, and his eyes never left the floor. And an instant after he spoke, he was gone.

Despite the faint noises coming from the quarantined area, the room suddenly seemed very cold and quiet to Sara. How many years had she waited to hear him finally say those words? It didn't matter, though. He was too late.

She felt like two different people crammed into one body. The young girl inside her cried with heartache, while the adult she was now sat quietly on the bed, stone-faced. She hadn't let on, but she'd known all along that he was leaving with the group tomorrow morning. She couldn't deny the fact that she still cared about him, and still prayed for him. But in that instant, she promised herself that if he should die, she wouldn't shed a single tear for him.

"Sara?"

Misha had appeared at the foot of her bed, looking concerned. He also seemed a little nervous. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his threadbare jeans. "You alright?"

She looked up, just then noticing him. "Yeah." She said.

There was a long, awkward silence that followed. Misha took a seat on the cot next to Sara's, but she said nothing. It was obvious that she was very distracted.

"I saw Max leaving...was he bothering you?"

At first, his question seemed rather intrusive to Sara, but the anger died as soon as it came. He was just worried about her, that was all. She couldn't be mad at him for that.

"No...he was just saying goodbye."

There was another long silence before he spoke again.

"Sara? I need...I need to ask you something."

Sara looked at him expectantly, and Misha suddenly felt the urge to flee.

_What's wrong with me?_ He thought. He'd had such a great plan when he'd set out for the hospital to see her. He was going to tell her how he felt and that he was going on this expedition for her sake and none other. Arnold's marriage to Helga had given him a strong resolve to unveil his affection for her, but now that he stood here before her, all of his nerves seemed to freeze completely.

Instead, he desperately searched for a cover story.

"I, uh...do you think...um...can you...fix my pants?" He felt his face flush the instant he said it. _Fix my pants? Misha, you idiot!_

"Your pants?" Sara asked, somewhat confused.

"Yeah, um...see, they're kind of old and there's a few holes and...um, I can't sew or patch stuff, and you seem to do it so well-" He stumbled through his words, gesturing toward the pile of garments and rustic tools on her bed.

"Sure, I guess I can do that." Sara said, a little curious about his odd behavior but otherwise oblivious to his obvious attraction toward her.

"Great! I'll be right back!" He rushed to a corner of the room and Sara instantly turned her head when she realized that he was taking his pants off. A moment later he was hurrying back over to her with his tattered pants in one hand, and Sara was relieved to see that he'd wrapped a blanket around his waist.

"Here." He said, holding them out to her and grinning. She took the jeans from his outstretched hand and set them in her lap.

"So..." he said as he sat on the bed parallel to hers. "Are you...uh...gonna miss us?"

"Sure." She said rather absently.

"But not all of us, right?" Misha almost kicked himself. What had he meant by that? Had he been trying to make a joke? _Misha, you retard!_

Sara seemed to halt what she was doing for just a second. "No...not everyone." She said quietly. Then, as if a thought had just occurred to her, she looked up at him.

"I will miss _you_, though."

Misha felt a warm tremor work it's way through his bloodstream at her simple words. He smiled, and she returned it, still completely oblivious to his inner reaction.

"Arnold, I want you to have this."

Arnold looked at Dr. Brandon with puzzlement when he placed a thick, worn leather Bible in his hands.

"What's this for?"

"Take it with you. It's good reading." The doctor said. Arnold looked back down at the Bible skeptically, but nodded anyway. "Ok."

"I think it will be a help to you, Arnold." Brandon held a more serious tone and Arnold looked up at him again. There was a deep sadness there that he hadn't noticed before. "You'll read it, won't you?"

Arnold smiled reassuringly. "Sure I will. Thanks, Dr. Brandon." He extended his hand and the doctor shook it firmly.

"Take good care of Helga for me until I get back."

"Of course. And you make sure and take good care of yourself, son."

"I will."

The group of brave soldiers gathered at the end of the Main Hall early the next morning, ready to depart. Regardless of the hour, many people still got up to see them off. Helga was there as well, despite Arnold's insistence that she stay in bed. Sara, who was not nearly as sick, was there to help support her bodily.

When the two girls approached him, and despite any on-lookers, Helga literally fell into his arms.

"Please be careful." She whispered while he stroked her soft hair.

"I will."

She leaned back and gazed into his face. Arnold took her face in one hand, supporting her body with the other, and kissed her. He had intended it to be a very soft kiss, unsure of how comfortable Helga would be with the whole idea in front of so many people. Helga was far more accustomed to the idea than he'd expected, though, and he found himself enveloped in a fiery passion he'd not soon forget.

Meanwhile, Sara had left them to their marriage rights and approached Misha, who now wore another pair of raddy pants he'd no doubt borrowed from someone for the time being. She held a bundle out to him, and in taking it, the bundle tumbled out of it's folded state to reveal a pair of very neatly patched pants. Misha was pleasantly surprised to see that not only was every hole covered, but Sara had gone so far as to reinforce every stress area, and she even added two inches to the bottom hem.

It was a little embarrassing for him to think that the fact that his pants were too short had been that noticeable. He didn't dare to hope that Sara had simply wished to accommodate him. Every stitch and seam was done so neat and straight, almost perfect, as though she'd had years of practice.

Misha suddenly saw a golden opportunity. "Wow, this is so great! Where'd you learn to sew like this?"

"My mom." Sara said with a smile.

"She must have been pretty cool."

"She was." The sadness in her voice was enough to tell Misha that he'd better not say anything else on that subject. However, it was just one more little detail about her that he could add to his list of things he knew.

He looked at the heavily repaired pants, then back at her. "These are really great, Sara. Thank you."

In a complete lapse of sanity, Misha bent down and pecked her cheek. It was so quick that a moment later he wasn't sure that he'd actually done it. However, the shocked expression on Sara's face clearly said he had.

"I…I'm sorry-"

"It's ok." Sara said as he shock slowly dissolved into a smile. "Just…stay alive, ok?"

Not far away, Maxwell watched Sara embrace the other man tightly. He'd been watching them the whole time.

When Arnold and Helga finally came up for air, Helga's eyes were brimming with tears once more. "Come back to me."

"I will, I promise."

"We'll take good care of him for you, Helga-girl." James said with a big smile as he approached them and slapped Arnold on the back. "But first we actually have to _leave_." He gave Helga a quick hug, then turned as Sara approached and hugged her as well.

"You keep a good eye on the Doc, alright? Make sure he doesn't work himself sick." It was said as a joke, but Sara caught the full implications of his words. What she didn't know was that he'd told Brandon to do the same thing regarding her.

Promising she would look out for him, Sara offered her arm to Helga, who took it reluctantly. The two steps she'd had to take toward Sara were two steps further from the man she'd loved all her life. She knew it would only get worse.

All the farewells and expressions of love faded into the background as Arnold followed the departing group. Barely paying attention to anything else, his eyes remained on his wife as often as they could until the group rounded a corner and she was no longer in his line of vision.

As Helga watched him disappear, she felt herself literally growing weaker as the reality of not having him near her sunk in. Her stomach began to ache and she could feel a coughing fit coming on. She felt Sara grip her arm more tightly and pull her closer.

"He'll be back, Helga."

To Be Continued…


End file.
